


A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

by phantomessangel



Series: Edge of Night [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Adventure, Azog - Freeform, Barrels - Freeform, Can't trust a wizard, Creepy Elves, Dwalin makes deals for scones, Dwalin's the smartest, Dwarves Being Awesome, F/M, Fighting with sticks, Gen, Genderswap, Giant Spiders, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Rain, Slow Burn, Wargs, always a girl bilbo, angsty feels, kidnapping wizards, playing with the timeline, really just playing dress-up, sneaky elves, sort of, testy Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 69
Words: 225,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomessangel/pseuds/phantomessangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyla Baggins, a respectable hobbit, with a Tookish streak, agrees to follow a group of dwarves far to the East, over ranges and rivers, to reclaim their homeland. Her mission is simple: defeat a dragon and convince the leader of the company, Thorin Oakenshield, to trust her. That may prove difficult, though, since he doesn't even know that she's a girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Call of the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working on a paper right now, really I should. But I can’t get this idea out of my head and I thought I’d write it out before I slaved away at composing a paper about Pre-Raphaelites and sensation novels. Anyway, I’m new here on AO3 and I’d love to get some feedback about this story. Comments are more than welcome! I hope you enjoy:

Prologue:  
“Do not leave me. I beg you. Do not go where I cannot follow. Please.”  
But the pleadings went on deaf ears, for those ears were numb to the world of the living.  
A calloused hand gently fingered golden curls atop the head of the young hobbit, lying unconscious in the too large bed, pale and deathly still.  
“Please my flower. Please return. I cannot see another sunrise without you with me. Please, please come back. I beg you.”  
The sobs of a broken man filled the still chamber, echoing down the hall. 

Chapter 1:  
Lyla Baggins was a very respectable hobbit lass, thank you very much. Or at least that’s what she pretended to be. Many years before, said Baggins was wild, unruly and Tookish to a fault. She loved to explore the woods, chasing fireflies and hoping to catch glimpses of the ethereal Elves that roamed the kindly West. It was no concern of hers if mud smattered her frocks or twigs entwined themselves in her hair (though her father often cringed when he took in the sight of her). She had no time to look prim and proper and play the part of a lady! She needed to experience the world. She needed freedom and excitement.  
‘It was a pity’ the gossips murmured to one another whenever little Lyla traipsed by, looking feral and unkempt. ‘Poor Bungo must have felt so ashamed of such a daughter!’ But who could blame her really? Her mother was the infamous, adventurous Belladonna Took. And such unruliness was bound to pass on to their children. Thankfully, they all agreed, Bungo had Bilbo to keep up appearances. Lyla’s twin brother was nothing like his sister, save in appearance. Every bit the respectable hobbit, Bilbo preferred calm solitude reading a good book or gardening with his father. He enjoyed a good meal and the calm of the front porch. He had no desire to travel beyond his front door if he could help it and could often spend an entire day without leaving his family smial.  
Of course, Lyla thought this was a horrible way to live and often teased her brother for his sensitivities.‘Come now! What good is sitting at home, when there’s so much out there to see!’ she exclaimed to him time and time again.  
‘I’m quite content where I am thank you!’ Bilbo almost always replied, usually curled up in a chair with a book in hand, ‘You’d do well to appreciate the comforts of home.’  
‘And you’d do better to learn to live a little!’ Lyla would reply heatedly, ‘I wish I had a brother who acted like my brother and not my father lecturing me so!’ and nearly every time, she’d storm away towards the woodlands that called to her, leaving her brother to his own comforts.  
So what changed? What prompted the most unruly hobbit child to tame her ways? What encouraged Lyla Baggins to represent the essence of respectability?  
The Fell Winter.  
In one fell swoop of bitter cold, famine and danger (with white wolves crossing into the Shire), Lyla lost the three most important things in her life. It began with her father. Poor Bungo was unprepared for such harsh conditions and his health deteriorated quite rapidly. Lyla and her mother and brother did all they could to keep his spirits aflame, but before the days signalled the middle of the winter season lit became horrifyingly apparent that Bungo was not destined to see another spring. This revelation took Belladonna to her own bed in grief, where she began to fade as rapidly as her husband. Almost overnight her once righ chestnut hair turned grey and deep lines rimmed her now dull eyes. Soon, she lost contact with the world around her and slipped into the shadows, never to awaken again. And much in the same way did Bilbo’s diminished spirits impose upon his health, for he felt the death of his parents keenly. He too, slipped further from Lyla’s grasp, wary of the outside world and convinced that life was no longer worth living.  
There was nothing she could do to save them in the end. Each passed on quietly in the night, as if they sensed the pain their deaths would cause Lyla and in their own way attempted to ease the burden she would bear.  
To their credit, the other hobbits took pity on poor wild daughter of Bungo Baggins. No one should see their family disappear like that. It was all rather tragic and they sent pitying stares towards the young lass as she walked numbly through town day after day following the loss of her parents and brother, avoiding her smial that was now so empty.  
But Lyla wouldn’t need their pity. No indeed she would not. In the weeks following the deaths of her parents and twin, something in Lyla locked itself away. No longer was she the wild rambunctious child. No longer would her fantasies rule her attitudes. She’d give her father the one thing he always wanted: a respectable daughter. She could do that one thing for him. She could uphold the respectability of the Baggins name.  
She would do it for them.  
And for many years it worked. The boys trousers went into the cupboard and instead, Lyla donned frilly dresses and ribbons. She tended the garden and entertained houseguests, and acted in every way the respectable hobbit her father hoped she’d be. Eventually she forgot what it was like to explore the unknown mysteries of the woods. She ignored the call for adventure that ran through her veins and pushed the longing for freedom aside. She was a Baggins of Bag end and that should be enough.  
And it was. For a time. Being a Baggins was more than enough for Lyla.  
Until Gandalf the Grey stood at her gate, a twinkle in his mischievous eyes that is. Lyla could only stare on in surprise at the wizard whom she hadn’t seen in many years. Not since Old Took had his parties and the wizard brought those marvelous fireworks. What on earth could he be doing here?  
“My dear Lyla,” Gandalf said with a smile, “I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”  
Lyla’s eyes widened at the prospect. “An-an adventure?”


	2. Where's Supper?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gaggle of dwarves invade the hobbit hole

Lyla fingered her golden curls with a mixture of trepidation and dread. Her once rich, tumbling locks were cropped close to her ears, framing her delicate face and making Lyla feel even smaller than she was before. She felt vulnerable.  
“This is never going to work,” She murmured glancing at her reflection in the mirror next to her bed, “No one will ever buy this farce.”  
Dressed in her brother’s old cropped brown trousers and green suspenders, her small chest bound tightly as a precaution, she admittedly look quite similar to her brother. But, her features were too delicate. Even she knew that. She wasn’t the most feminine hobbit, but her thin cheeks and pointed chin and small hands and wrists, gave her a distinct softness that most male hobbits did not possess.  
Lyla sighed. It was highly unlikely that those small differences would not go unnoticed by her impending guests. Honestly, what had she been thinking accepting Gandalf’s ruse? Curse her Tookish blood for rearing its ugly head when her life had settled into a very comfortable pattern. Yes. She was quite content before that confounded wizard popped into her little smial with an enticing offer to escape the Shire.  
Admittedly, it didn’t take much to convince Lyla to forsake tradition and welcome a group of Dwarves (Dwarves!) into her home. Clearly she was as mad as Gandalf. And she was certain that tongues would be wagging once word got out that Little Lyla Baggins had turned Took once again. She smirked at the thought of Lobelia, purple and spluttering in fury once she realized that Lyla was no longer acting like a “respectable” hobbit lass.  
And despite all the fear of the impending introduction to a gaggle of surly, battle hardened dwarves, she couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision to go along with this half-baked plan. The appeal of adventure was just too strong to resist for a young hobbit with Took blood flowing freely through her veins. She’d stifled her desires for too long and Gandalf’s appearance at her doorstep was the push she needed; the push she longed for (though she hadn’t realized it at the time).  
She couldn’t help but note, with a pang in her chest, that she was breaking the promise she had made to uphold the respectability of the Baggins name. Would her father forgive her? And how would she handle being addressed as her brother? The mere thought of Bilbo's name sent tremors of grief and guilt through her chest.  
Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to consider such thoughts. A swift and hard knock echoed through her quiet home and Lyla turned a frantic eye towards the door, butterflies flittering in her chest, her stomach twisting in knots acceptance. Padding softly down the hall, she reached the wide door and, taking a deep breath, pulled the latch forward.  
Lyla thought she knew what to expect with dwarves, but she could, in no way, prepare for the gruff character standing outside her door. Towering over his petite frame, this dwarf bore strange tattoos on his bald head. His knuckles, arms and chest were clad in armor and various weaponry. His beady dark brown eyes assessing his surroundings, narrowed as he took in her small form cowering in the doorway.  
“Dwalin,” the dwarf addressed dipping his head in respect, “at your service.”  
Lyla gaped at the dwarf for a moment, clearly stunned. After he narrowed his eyes at her, clearly expecting her to do something other than stare, Lyla came back to her senses.  
“Yes, yes of course! Bil-“ she cleared her throat to prevent her voice from cracking, “Bilbo Baggins at your service. Come in. Sorry.” She pulled the door open wider and the massive dwarf lumbered forward flicking his cloak off in a huff.  
“Which way laddie?” He queried surging forward, tossing said cloak at the unsuspecting hobbit and tromping inward, his boots thundering through the silent house, “is it down here?”  
Lyla was confused by that question. “Uh-is what down…where?”  
“Supper. He said there’d be food and lots of it,” Dwalin remarked in a clipped tone, cleared miffed at the lack of the promised supper. His heavy footfalls trudged down the hall as he explored Lyla’s smial.  
Supper?! Gandalf didn’t mention supper. Thirteen dwarves wanting and expecting supper?! She wasn’t prepared for this.  
Lyla felt her eye twitch in annoyance.  
Leave it to that finicky wizard to withhold vital information.  
Oh confusticate it all!  
Her doorbell rang at that moment and Lyla turned back towards the door she had just shut.  
She had a feeling this was going to be a long night.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Two hours later and Lyla could feel the start of a headache pounding behind her eyes.  
And the noise from her dining room was only increasing.  
The second Dwarf to arrive had been Balin. The white-haired creature, clad in red robes, smiled kindly (if a little apologetically), commented on the possibility of rain, and meandered into Lyla’s entryway. She was surprised to discover that Dwalin—who had gotten his hand stuck in her biscuit jar—was Balin’s younger, much more intimidating brother. They had greeted each other affectionately and to Lyla’s horror smashed their foreheads together. She had cringed at the sickening noise their two heads made when they connected and fancied that she'd never try that form of greeting.  
The next time her doorbell rang, Lyla was surprised to find not one, but two rather young looking dwarves standing at her door, identical smiles plastered on their faces.  
“Fili” stated the blond dwarf with the braided mustache  
“And Kili” the dark-haired youth remarked  
“At your service.” They both bowed deeply.  
“You must be Mr. Boggins!” Kili grinned cheekily pushing past her without waiting for answer.  
Fili followed with a smug smirk, dumping his weapons in her unsuspecting arms and trundling down the hall towards Dwalin and Balin’s hulking forms. Were they moving her furniture around?!  
Shortly thereafter, chaos ensued. The next time she answered her door, an entire gaggle of dwarves tumbled into her doorway, nearly crushing her in the confusion. The largest dwarf (by far) was crushing several others. A hat went flying as they tumbled into a heap of groans and grunts of annoyance and pain.  
And behind them stood a tall wizard clutching his staff and looking somewhat apologetic (which wasn’t apologetic at all really. How sorry can a wizard actually be?).  
Lyla felt her eye twitching.  
“Gandalf” she had breathed grumpily.  
Now however, after two hours of listening to loud laughter, watching her pantry diminish in its contents, witnessing food flying through the air, Dwarves walking on her table, her dishes flying through the air and Gandalf—that blasted wizard—sitting calmly with a smile on his face watching Lyla run about making requests and demands only to be ignored. It was infuriating. They were her dishes after all. And her maps and books. And her doilies! The least her guests could do is respect her property.  
Then a pounding echoed throughout her home and silence stifled the dwarves as they turned towards the sources of the noise. Gandalf rose quickly, and moved past Lyla to answer the door.  
Lyla felt her mouth go dry at the figure who stepped into the light of the candles in her entry. Long ebony locks streaked with silver, a straight prominent nose, and piercing blue eyes pummeled Lyla’s vision and she felt her neck warm up as a blush crept up to her ears.  
He was very…handsome…not even that word did him justice! He was exceptional, powerful, intimidating... majestic? Regal? Whatever he was, his presence filled the whole room, that was for certain.  
“Allow me to introduce the leader of our quest: Thorin Oakenshield”  
Those piercing blue eyes turned towards Lyla, assessing and calculating, sizing her up.  
“So this is the hobbit?” He gave a derisive snort, his eyes flicking across her face. She half wondered if her ruse would be unraveled by his man’s penetrating gaze. Her heart started pounding.  
“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” He pushed past her, not bothering to even attempt being polite.  
Well that was…rude, selfish, arrogant…  
She sent a glare towards Gandalf, who had the decency to look apologetic at this insult (and maybe he really was apologetic this time). This was certainly NOT what she was expecting when she agreed to this adventuring business. This was frustrating, annoying, terrifying. She certainly didn’t think she’d be dealing with such a pompous creature. It was enough to drive anyone batty.  
It was also exhilarating.


	3. Rain and Trolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dwarves make some interesting acquaintances and Lyla endears herself to Thorin's good graces...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this has been one of the longest weeks in my life. I've been swamped with work and then family issues came up leaving me competely stressed and weary. Seriously, I wanted to curl up and cry I was so completely overwhelmed. So, what do I do instead? I turn to writing. I can't say for certain whether this chapter is any good or not, but it sure made me feel a whole lot better writing it. It kept me sane. Thankfully. So I hope you enjoy it and any comments or criticism is welcome.

A week into their travels, Lyla eyed the grey skies with trepidation from atop her pony. She could smell the rain in the air and knew it was only a matter of time before the downpour began. Of course, when she voiced her concern about traveling in the impending weather to her companions, her queries went on deaf ears. They didn’t appear the least concerned about the rain.  
“We have much road to cover master Baggins,” Thorin’s deep voice rumbled signaling slight annoyance as he peered down his nose at her, “We can’t stop every time the weather disrupts your comfort.”  
The majority of the company sniggered at the obvious slight. Bofur, however, with his hat firmly planted on his head, gave her an encouraging smile. Out of all the dwarves, he was the one willing to befriend her. And she was indeed grateful to the toymaker. His cheerful disposition calmed her fraying nerves as they moved further and further from the Shire.  
The skies cracked and groaned in warning and the first droplets of rain began. In a way, the weather matched her mood: stormy. That gammy wizard neglected to mention a few important details about the journey until well after Lyla had signed the contract. It was only once the ink dried that the dwarves mentioned Smaug the Terrible.  
A dragon of all things. They wanted Lyla to steal from a dragon! Just the thought of coming face to face with what would surely be her end, made Lyla’s heart hammer in her chest. But a contract was a contract, and she had signed it. She had to see this through…even if she wasn’t technically a burglar.  
Or male for that matter.  
Ah but those were details that were unimportant. Or at least that’s what Gandalf tried to reassure.  
The rain picked up in speed, the droplets growing ever larger. It didn’t take long before Lyla was completely drenched, no matter how many times she tugged her waistcoat closer to her body. Her curls were matted to her head and the scent of wet pony assaulted her nose. She glanced at the dwarves with a tad bit of envy. Each had a cloak, far more resistant to water than her own comfortable clothing. As a result, they seemed relatively unperturbed by the torrential downpour.  
She glanced balefully at Bofur’s hat, somewhat spiteful at his good fortune. Out of all of them, he appeared the least concerned by the weather. In fact, he looked rather content and warm beneath the hat and cloak.  
Lyla gazed down at her soaked clothing painfully aware how unprepared she clearly was for this journey. She didn’t have the type of supplies necessary to be making this trek. Arguably it really wasn’t her fault. Her parents never thought to actually acquire such items and with the short notice of this journey, Lyla didn’t have time to go hunting for such items in Hobbiton (not that it was likely that she’d actually find anything). No, she had to make due with what she had in her possession.  
She grimaced though, when she noted the state of her bedroll.  
Lyla jumped when a heavy weight fell across her shoulders, blocking out the unceasing rain. Surprised, she jerked her head up and was met with Dwalin’s intimidating form next to her pony.  
“You won’t do any of us any favors by falling ill in this weather,” Dwalin grumbled, fastening the ties around her neck.  
Embarrassed, Lyla tried to refuse the gift, “Oh I couldn’t take your cloak. I appreciate the sentiment, but-“  
“There’s nothing sentimental about it,” Dwalin snapped, “It’s merely practical. Best take the cloak and be done with it laddie. No more of your frilly conversation if you please.”  
Shocked, she merely nodded dumbly. With a satisfied nod, Dwalin flicked the hood of the cloak atop her head and without another glance in her direction, led his pony back towards his brother and Thorin at the head of the company.  
Lyla just stared confusedly at Dwalin’s back. Out of all the dwarves in this company, she did not expect the most intimidating one to show her kindness…even if he claimed it was for practical reasons.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
It was a small mercy that they came upon the remnants of the farm house as the sun started to set. The rain had dwindled to a slight drizzle (you could barely call it rain at that point) but that didn’t prevent the company from feeling the lingering chill on their damp clothes. The dilapidated walls and crumbling roof would provide enough shelter to get a large fire going. Lyla relished the thought of drying her bed roll out and getting a warm meal in her stomach.  
It appeared, however, that not all the members of the company were not as eager to rest as Lyla. Gandalf gazed around hesitantly, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the damaged home. His gaze lingered on the top of the structure and he muttered something too low for Lyla to hear. It appeared, though, that Thorin heard for immediately his form bristled and he turned to face the wizard, drawing himself up to full height (which admittedly wasn’t much in comparison to Gandalf).  
“I will not go near that place,” his voice carried over the company, who still and observed the scene before them.  
Lyla strained to hear what Gandalf replied, but only caught snatches. “We could get food, shelter…advice!”  
‘Where?’ she thought confused. If such a place was close by, why would they not seek out comfort such as what Gandalf described?  
“I am the leader of this company and you’d do well to remember that wizard!” Thorin shouted. Lyla stiffened. Were you allowed to yell at wizards?  
It appeared you could. Gandalf only huffed in response and drew his grey robes closer to his body, clutching his staff tightly. Turning quickly, he made a hasty exit of the company.  
“Gandalf?” Lyla questioned, worry and confusion interlaced in her words, “Where are you going?”  
“To seek the only person who has any sense!”  
“And who’s that?”  
“Myself master Baggins! I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.”  
Lyla’s stomach dropped. A disappearing wizard did not bode well. But there wasn’t much she could do. She couldn’t follow after the wayward wizard and demand his return. Wizards did as they pleased. And she had a contract to uphold.  
Pushing the thoughts of Gandalf out of her mind, she assisted Balin in unloading the ponies and collecting wood for the fire. She would have liked to help with dinner too (who liked eating burnt stew?) but Bombur was a fierce guard of the food stores. If she didn’t want to lose a finger or two, it was best to stay away.  
And few hours later, after the stew had been dished out, Gandalf had still not returned. The skies had darkened, and night fully descended. Lyla paced by the fire, unease coiling uncomfortably around her.  
“He’s been a long time,” she murmured peering out into the darkness. Her eyes weren’t good enough to distinguish much though.  
“Who?” Bofur asked, half listening, as he ladled stew into two waiting bowls.  
“Gandalf.”  
Bofur grinned gently at her, “He’s a wizard!” he remarked as if that answered everything. “He does as he chooses. Now, do us a favor and bring those to the lads.” He thrust the two steaming bowls into Lyla’s unsuspecting hands.  
With a stiff nod, she trudged out into the waiting darkness and headed towards the soft snorts and shuffling of the ponies. When she got closer, though, Lyla noticed something odd. Both Fili and Kili stood stark still, gazing into the group of animals, identical panicked expressions on their faces. Lyla looked between the two of them confused.  
“What’s the matter?”  
“We’re supposed to be looking after the ponies,” Kili began  
“But we’ve encounter a slight problem,” Fili continued.  
“We had sixteen”  
“Now there’s fourteen.”  
This didn’t make any sense. How did one lose ponies?  
“What were you two doing to lose the ponies?” Lyla quirked her eyebrow at the two of them.  
“Ahh..” Kili trailed off awkwardly, looking quite embarrassed.  
“Look!” Fili whispered pointing behind Kili’s shoulder, “There’s a light!”  
He darted into the trees, Kili fast on his heels. Lyla was torn between returning to camp to alert the others or following the two boys into the wilderness to face…whatever that light was. With a long-suffering sigh, she stumbled her way towards Fili and Kili. She just knew she’d come to regret this decision.  
Halfway to the two dwarves, however, a rather loud crash directly overhead had her dropping the bowls of stew and cowering under a bush, her eyes going wide. She poked her head up when the soft neighing of ponies rang out close to her. She sucked in a startled breath at the image of a giant creature lumbering through the overgrowth, downing trees with his wide gait. Under each arm, a pony squirmed desperately trying to get away, though it appeared like a useless endeavor.  
As the figure moved away from Lyla, she scrambled to her feet and hastened towards Fili and Kili’s crouched forms.  
“What was that?!” she whispered, panting, adrenaline running through her veins, making her heart pound.  
Kili’s eyes narrowed at the scene, “Trolls,” he ground out, darting closer to the light, Fili and Lyla close on his heels.  
Crouching behind a downed tree, Lyla noted that the light was a rather large fire and surrounding that fire were three monstrous looking trolls. The ponies were placed in a makeshift pen, bucking and neighing frantically.  
“I hope you’re gonna gut these nads,” one of the trolls grumbled smacking the pen, “I don’t like the stinky parts. Never have.”  
The troll who sat stirring the giant pot atop the fire, grumbled about ingratitude and continued to stir his concoction. Lyla’s nose wrinkled at the pungent smell wafting towards her. She’d take Bombur’s stew any day over that putrid creation.  
“We have to do something,” Fili whispered.  
“We need to get Thorin,” Lyla remarked, not taking her eyes from the campfire of trolls, strangely fascinated by their presence. She’d never seen something so…unusual and terrifying in her life. Her Tookish curiosity was getting the better of her.  
“Ah…no. Best not to worry him,” Kili remarked hastily, guilt lacing his words.  
“Right. Yes, we thought as our official burglar that you’d like to look into it.”  
Lyla snapped her head back to look at the dwarves. Were they mad?!  
“Wha-I-no! I can’t!”  
Kili pushed her forward, “It’s perfectly safe! Mountain trolls are slow and stupid and you’re so small! They’ll never see you. And we’ll be right behind you!”  
“Yes! If you get into any trouble, though, hoot once like a barn owl and twice like a brown owl.”  
Lyla stumbled, searching for her balance, “once like a brown owl? Twice like a barn-are you sure this is a good-” she gazed behind her and noted that her companions had disappeared, “idea.”  
Bother.  
Right then! Straightening her jacket determinedly , Lyla crept closer to the fire, wary of stepping to close to the light. The shadows would hide her far better. Grateful for her light footsteps, she snuck quietly towards the pen, where the ponies stamped their feet and shook their heads frantically.  
She noticed a knotted rope near the edge of the shadows that held the pen together. If she could just get it loose then the ponies could break free. Lyla grasped the thick frayed rope and tugged. The blasted thing, however, wouldn’t budge. She felt her eye twitch in annoyance. What was she to do now?  
Letting out a shriek, thoughts of freeing ponies fled her mind as her feet were pulled from under her and she swung through the air, the blood rushing to her head. The hideous face of one of the trolls swam into view. She was, without a doubt, Middle Earth’s WORST burglar. It didn’t take more than five minutes for her to be captured.  
“What are you.” It demanded shaking her lightly, “Some oversized ferret?”  
“Ferret?!” Lyla squeaked with indignation, “I am not a ferret! I’m a burglar-er-hobbit.”  
“A burglarobbit?” a second troll questioned, his eyes flicking in two different directions. “Can we cook it?”  
“Ah no no! Not me. I wouldn’t taste very good. All skin and bones I am. Nasty business really” Lyla scrambled with her words.  
“He’s right. He wouldn’t make more than a mouthful,” the troll crushing her ankles remarked, his foul breath blowing in her face. Her stomach churned at the repulsive stench.  
“Perhaps there’s more burglarobbits ‘round these parts. Maybe enough for a pie,” the third troll remarked, wiping a filthy rag across his running nose.  
“Oi, are there any more of you running around where you shouldn’t?” her captor grumbled in her face  
“Nope,” Lyla replied.  
“He’s lying!” the second troll retorted  
“No I’m not!”  
“Hold his toes over the fire. Make ‘im squeal”  
A mighty chorus of cries erupted, however, and Lyla was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, as the gaggle of dwarves descended upon the trolls. Landing with a sharp pain to her shoulder, Lyla scrambled to her feet and backed away from the large feet tramping through the makeshift campsite.  
Dwalin and Thorin slashed through the legs of the three monstrosities, with Nori and Bofur close behind with mattocks and hammers, crushing toes and trying to get the trolls off their feet. Ori and Gloin aimed for the heads knocking teeth out, while Dori and Balin slashed at the stomachs and arms. Oin, Bifur and Bombur came at the trolls from behind, stabbing and hacking at the calves and lower backs while Fili sliced at hands and fingers. Kili stood a short distance away, firing arrows at the creatures’ necks.  
Lyla, who didn’t have a weapon, tried to stay well out of the fray and instead focused on the ponies. She could try and free them at least. Hesitantly, she inched towards the pen once more and started to tug at the ropes once more.  
But, once again, her legs were tugged from underneath her.  
‘Come on!’ she thought dourly. She’d never live this down.  
“Lay down your arms,” the troll shouted, “Or we’ll rip ‘is off.”  
Thorin pushed his sword into the dirt and the rest of the company soon followed. Without their weapons they were quickly stripped of their armor and half (including Lyla) were stuffed into sacks. The others, were tied together on a spit over the newly invigorated fire. Lyla could feel Thorin’s piercing glare on her. He’d never forgive her for this degradation.  
Double bother.  
There had to be something they could do.  
“’urry up! Don’t bother cookin’ em. Dawn ain’t far off and I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”  
Dawn? Stone?  
‘Stall Lyla’  
“Wait!”She shouted rolling to her feet. Her shoulder gave a painful jerk that made her wince, but she ignore it. “You’re going about this all wrong!”  
“What do you know about cookin’ dwarf burglarobbit?” one of the trolls questioned stomping closer.  
“Oh plenty! Like cooking them on a spit does nothing but dry them out. They’ll get all leathery and tough that way.”  
“What would you have us do then? Squash them into jelly?”  
“Ahh…actually-“what could she say?  
“Yes, go on then? What’s the secret?”  
“The, uh, secret to cooking dwarf is…is-“  
“Go on then.”  
“The secret is to-“ she sent an apologetic look to the group in sacks, “skin them first!”  
An uproar of angry voices descended on Lyla. She could hear Dwalin’s above the other’s declaring he’d not forget those words.  
Terrific.  
“What a load of rubbish! I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on! I say stuff ‘em boots and all!”  
“He’s right, nothing wrong with a bit a raw dwarf!” the bug-eye troll declared picking up Bombur’s hulking form, “Nice and crunchy!”  
“No! Not that one he’s…he’s infected.”  
“You-wha?”  
“Yeah he’s got worms…in his…tubes! It’s a terrible business really. I wouldn’t risk it. I really wouldn’t.”  
Her remarks had the desired effect as the troll dropped Bombur back onto the rest of her bound companions. But then his attention turned back towards Lyla.  
“I say the little bugger’s lyin’” The troll fixed both swiveling eyes on her, “Let’s start with you first then, eh?”  
The putrid creature wrapped its thick fingers around her small frame and Lyla’s heart started hammering.  
“We’re all infected really, though. Didn’t I mention that?” She murmured frantically.  
“Yes we are! I’ve got huge parasites!” Kili’s voice chimed in.  
“We’re riddled.” Ori.  
“Yes we are, badly!” Dori.  
“Shut it, you lot!” The troll holding Lyla squeezed in annoyance at the clamoring voices. Lyla gasped in pain. It was as though stone were crushing her ribs and with her bound chest, the pressure only intensified. Her vision swam slightly.  
“The dawn will take you all!” The all too familiar voice of their wayward wizard echoed through the small camp.  
Lyla turned her head in time to see Gandalf standing atop a boulder, raising his staff. With a loud crash that rivaled the thunder of the storm the previous day, the contact between the staff and stone split the boulder in two, sending streams of golden sunlight upon them. The trolls hissed and groaned in pain. Lyla dropped from the grasp of her captor as his arms stiffened and his features hardened. Soon, each of the trolls stood still.  
Stone.  
Lyla breathed a sigh of relief, wincing. But happy.  
Incredibly happy.  
Gandalf hurried to her side, and untied the sack from around her neck. Then carefully, the two went through and freed the rest of her companions, Lyla focused on the sacked dwarves, and Gandalf focused on those tied to the spit. Most were grateful for the help. Kili clapped her on the shoulder lightly, a grin on his face. Apparently near death experiences made him happy?  
“That was brilliant! Perfectly brilliant” he remarked rising to his feet and assisting her.  
When she came to Thorin, however, he said not a word. His glower said it all though. Swiftly, she undid the tie to his sack and he jerked away from her fumbling fingers to rise to his feet.  
“You!” He launched into a tirade, “What were you doing?” Thorin’s hands were balled into fists, “Tell me master Baggins, would you consider yourself an adult?”  
“Well yes, I-“  
“Then I would think you’d have more sense than to traipse into a troll camp with naught but your limited wits about you.”  
“Now see here I-“  
“And,” he continued on, interrupting her, “I’d expect you to have the intelligence to come and seek out the leader of this company before following in the foolish footsteps of its younger members.”  
“But I-“  
“Are we clear master Baggins?” Thoring narrowed his eyes at her, silencing the retort she would have given.  
Lyla felt a blush rise on her cheeks and she nodded curtly, refusing to say a word, her anger boiling near the surface. With a stiff nod, Thorin turned towards the pile of weaponry that the trolls had heaped together when they’d stripped the dwarves of their things. The company stood still, eyes shifting between Thorin’s skulking form and Lyla’s frozen one. No one said a word.  
They didn’t have to though. Lyla’d heard enough from Thorin, thank you.  
Stiffly, she began to help collect any wayward article that belonged to a company member, staying as silent as possible. She was embarrassed and furious at the same time and wanted nothing more than to reprimand Thorin for his haughty behavior. She was not a child to be chastised. But that wouldn’t get her anywhere. He was still the company leader. Much to her annoyance.  
Oh confound the pride of dwarves!


	4. Trees and Wargs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence in this chapter (though I'm probably not that good at detailing anything so...I'll let you judge whether or not it's actually considered 'violent')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a quick thank you for all the kudos, hits and bookmarks! You guys are great and I'm a sucker for author affection. I hope you like this chapter. It's been a long time coming and I hope I did it justice. To be honest I'm so burned out from this last semester of schooling that I don't think I can tell what good writing is right now! Give me a few weeks, though, and hopefully I can get back on the proverbial writing horse. On the plus side, this was my VERY LAST SEMESTER so I can dedicate more time to writing what I want to write instead of research papers and such. Yay! 
> 
> As always I don't own anything, other than Lyla, and I'd love to hear from you. I should be able to update more frequently now (depending on my muse) so that bodes well for you people out there who actually follow this story and enjoy it. 
> 
> Okay enough rambling, enjoy the chapter and give me some feedback!

Thorin elected to maintain camp for the day to allow the company the rest they’d been deprived of thanks to their unfortunate encounter. No one objected to the small reprieve, especially Lyla. Her torso ached fiercely from being handled so roughly by the trolls and though she was fairly certain no lasting damage had been inflicted, she was grateful to rest her weary body. Each breath she took ached within her chest and the thought of marching through dense foliage or riding a horse that would jostle you about certainly turned her stomach sour.  
That being said, though, Lyla was not anxious to remain in the company of one Thorin Oakenshield. That pompous, self-righteous…blasted dwarf. Lyla watched the other dwarves hunting for the troll hoard that Gandalf had reminded them to search for, while she elected to remain behind. She didn’t care for treasure hunting anyway (ironic since she was hired to burgle treasure from a bloody dragon). Sitting in the shade of a rather imposing tree, the horses lazily rooting for grass to consume, Lyla scrunched her face up in annoyance as her mind replayed the horrid humiliation.  
Thorin’s words had sufficiently embarrassed and shamed her in front of the entire company. And she still didn’t believe she deserved such a tongue lashing. Least of all in front of people who already held a stiff suspicion towards. And had she been more Took in that moment, Thorin might has received a similar condescension and malice laced within her retort. However, the Baggins side—the ever proper and peace-abiding heritage running through her veins—deemed it best to remain silent.  
Lyla was regretting that choice right now.  
It had been at least a few hours and the majority of the company had given her a wide berth, as though she were as inferior as Thorin deemed her to be. She did feel the pitying gazes of the two princes, though they too kept their distance. Bofur, however, remained completely unruffled by the events and determined it his personal mission to elicit a smile from her lips.  
It was all for naught though. Lyla was in no mood to smile and soon enough even Bofur wandered away in search of treasure.  
And so that left Lyla sitting under a tree, alone and conflicted. Her stomach clenched in knots that seemed ever-present lately. The stinging pain of loneliness pricked at her making her frown deepen on her face. She just didn’t understand the malice and contempt that Thorin held for her. It was ridiculous really, and yet he continued to show a complete lack of respect for her presence. It appeared that she was neither needed nor wanted by the great king under the mountain and the only reason she was on this daunting quest was because of the word of a wizard.  
“Confusticate blasted gammy wizards,” she grumbled closing her eyes, blocking out the painful throb in her torso.  
As soon as her eyes closed, exhaustion overtook her senses. All the adrenaline having finally worn off, and her anger and wounded pride subsiding, Lyla started to slip into a peaceful slumber beneath the tree surrounded by the soft noises of horses grazing.  
What she didn’t notice, however, was the pair of watchful eyes, gazing at her slumped and resting form. The eyes, which belonged to a very observant dwarf narrowed suspiciously as he watched the young hobbit wince whenever they moved.  
Lyla didn’t know how long she had slept, but suddenly rough hands were upon her shaking vigorously. With a hiss of pain she opened here eyes to the frantic gaze of Bofur.  
“On yer feet laddie, we have to get moving,” He remarked, his usual cheerful demeanor exchanged for a harried and haggard appearance. Worry spiked in Lyla’s chest, as she slowly got to her feet, hissing at the movements.  
“What’s happened?” she murmured, her voice low and pained, noticing the dwarves scuttling about packing their belongings in a hasty manner.  
“Kili spotted wargs a few leagues away. We need to leave this place. Quickly,” Bofur eyed her carefully, his eyes assessing her face. “Are ye alright lad?” He questioned quietly.  
Lyla was suddenly defensive. Though this wasn’t Thorin’s demanding presence hounding her with questions, she wasn’t too keen on letting anyone in the company know about her pain. With her current status as an ‘unwanted member’ of the company, she half expected Thorin to leave her behind if he found out. Dramatic as that sounded, she was hesitant to risk anything.  
“I’m fine,” she replied (though the bindings around her chest dug painfully into her skin and the throbbing pain in her torso only continued). “Just a little sore is all. It’s been a long night.”  
“Aye it has laddie.” Bofur didn’t sound convinced, but he didn’t question her further, “Let’s get a move on then shall we?”  
Lyla nodded and helped to collect that rest of her belongings and loaded them onto Myrtle’s back and hastily mounted as the rest of the company did the same.  
“Try and stay on your guard,” Thorin remarked, facing the company, “We know not how many scouts may be out there and we can’t risk alerting an entire part of hunters upon us.” He shot Lyla a pointed look and she felt her cheeks flush slightly.  
The nerve of that dwarf!  
Unfortunately, they didn’t need to remain on their guard. A deep, bone-chilling howl filled the air as a monstrous beast leapt at Dori, who had yet to get on his speckled pony, pinning him underneath two large brown paws. Kili and Thorin quickly dismounted, followed by Nori and Bofur, attacking the beast and pulling Dori to safety. At the same time, a second black beast descended upon the group, this time aimed at Balin, though Dwalin was quick to leap on the back of the beast before it could tackle his brother, burying his large battle axe in the monster’s skull. Lyla’s stomach rolled as she stared in shock at the large beasts and sheer ferocity that the dwarves exhibited as they attacked. The best Lyla could do in the situation was grip Myrtle’s reins to try and steady the quaking creature.  
“Warg scouts,” Thorin muttered darkly pulling his sword (something Lyla had never seen him wield before now) from the warg’s back, “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”  
Orc pack?! Oh this was…  
Simply lovely.  
“We must move. And move quickly,” Gandalf admonished, grabbing the reins of his gelding.  
No one moved, probably due to confused panic. Or at least that’s what Lyle felt.  
“Move!” Gandalf bellowed and at his admonishment, the ponies took off by their own volition, nearly knocking Lyla to the ground in surprise.  
Thankfully, Myrtle was a sure-footed creature. She quickly navigated through the thick underbrush of the forest, avoiding large stones and roots, following Gandalf’s figure, making up the rear of the company along with Bofur and his dark mare. But no matter how quickly they were moving through the trees, howling followed after them, getting ever louder. Lyla tightened her grip on the rein and chanced a glance behind her, her eyes widening in panic as she spotted three dark shadows weaving through the dense foliage, getting closer and closer to their party. One in particular, was nipping at Bofur’s heels, though the kind dwarf did not notice.  
To Lyla’s horror the beast following Bofur seemed to gain a burst of adrenaline and suddenly leapt towards the dwarf and his pony. The warg landed with precision on top of the two knocking Bofur off his mount and pushing the pony far from him.  
“Bofur!” Lyla shouted, yanking her reins to stop Myrtle’s movement. She had to do something.  
Urging Myrtle towards the scene (though the pony resisted) Lyla quickly grabbed the scruff of the stunned dwarf’s coat and yanked him up with all the strength she could muster. Her ribs groaned in protest and spots danced before her eyes, but she refused to let go. She refused to give up her friend to the snapping jowls of that…that beast.  
Thankfully, her touch seemed to pull Bofur from his stupor for he quickly grabbed onto the pommel of the saddle and hoisted himself in front of Lyla, grabbing the reins and turning the pony around (his own having bolted after the warg collision). With shaking hands, Lyla clutched onto Bofur’s tattered jacket and buried her face into his back, her heart hammering in her chest and her breathing coming out in short gasps. The heady scent of wood smoke and sweat laced her senses and she willed her hear to stop hammering so. She prayed they’d make it past any further attacks.  
Luck, however, was not on her side.  
Just as they broke the tree line and were swiftly catching up to the rest of the company, a large snarling warg pounced in front of them, sending Myrtle reeling back and throwing Lyla and Bofur to the ground. The startled creature, freed of its burden, darted back into the trees, completely ignored by the warg. No it seemed the creature preferred a hobbit and a dwarf over pony flesh. Lyla scrambled slowly to her feet, sweat pouring off her brow as the pain in her chest increased by the sudden descent to the ground. She back into Bofur who quickly pushed her behind him, pulling out his mattock and gripping the handle tightly.  
To her horror and dismay a second and third warg jumped down from the high rocks ensconced on either side of the tree line, their snarls and snapping filling the air around the two.  
The wargs had cut them off from the company.  
“Mahal help us,” Bofur murmured, his grip tightening on his mattock. There was no way past the beasts, except through fight. However, Lyla was unarmed and a vulnerability to such a plan. They needed a distraction.  
Lyla’s eyes narrowed in thought as she and Bofur slowly backed up towards the forest once more.  
The forest.  
Trees!  
“Bofur, we have to climb!” Lyla whispered fiercely, “If we can get into the trees, maybe we can hold them off until the others come for us.”  
Bofur didn’t say anything, but the sharp nod of his head suggested he agreed with her hasty plan. Taking a deep breath Lyla glanced at the distance between herself and the nearest tree. Only a few feet. She could make it.  
They could make it.  
“Bofur now!” She shouted and the pair took off towards the tall pine, as the snarls and snaps of the wargs followed closely behind. Bofur grabbed Lyla’s wrist and thrust her upward as he too jumped into the branches. Thankfully, hobbits were excellent climbers. Lyla quickly ascended to the topmost portion of the tree, keeping a wary eye on the scene below, with Bofur quickly coming up behind her, panting heavily.  
“Quick thinking laddie,” He remarked, patting Lyla’s shoulder. Lyla would have smile or remarked but her senses were so jumbled and shaking that she could hardly string two words together anymore. She elected nodding her head and resting it against the bark of the tree base, gasping for breath.  
Beneath them, the wargs howled and jumped trying to get to the top where Lyla and Bofur sat. The branches beneath them snapped and bent to the abuse the three monstrosities inflicted on the tree. Their weight pounding against the tree shook the entire plant, jostling Lyla and Bofur. But try as they might, the creatures could not reach.  
The relief she felt swelling in her heart, however, was short lived. The abuse the three monsters were inflicting upon the tree, weakened the roots. Slowly the tree began to tilt at an odd angle. Lyla’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.  
Then she heard it. The guttural sounds of darks speech seeped into the howls of the wargs.  
The orcs had found them and there was still no sign of Thoring, Gandalf and the rest.  
They were alone.  
“We have to jump master Baggins,” Bofur’s harried voice whispered in her ear.  
Nodding as dread filled, her, Lyla steadied herself for the moment when their tree connected with another. As the top most branches collided with the tree nearest to them, the jolt sent Lyla sprawling towards the lower branches, her movements unsteady and her vision unfocused. Her grip slipped and Bofur shouted her name (or rather Bilbo’s)as she felt the wind rush past her.

Blast.


	5. The Stubborness of Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some depictions of violence (again I'm not sure how violent these things are. I can't tell how good I am at writing violence per se). Lyla learns she part of the company...and not. Also, interactions with wargs and cranky dwarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has taken so long to come out. I've been dealing with illness. And this chapter is a lot more complex than I originally anticipated so it's been a challenge to sift through all the thoughts I've got flitting around in my head concerning this particular portion. It also explains why I've cut the massive chapter into two smaller ones. I'm not totally satisfied with it however and may go back and edit a few things. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. And p.s. thank you for all the hits, kudos and bookmarks! It makes me feel so loved! :)

It didn’t hurt as much as Lyla thought it would, crashing to the ground, her mind in a haze of confusion and panic. However, each leaf—brilliantly green and glistening through the streams of sunlight caught her attention as she drifted to the ground (in a far slower pace that she would have supposed). So, too, did she detail to memory, Bofur’s panicked face as he watched her tumble to the forest floor. Lines of worry etched in his brow, rising well into the spaces his hat hid, and his mouth pulled into a horrified gape. She knew there were wargs surrounding them and she knew that she was more than likely to die very shortly. Nevertheless, for the life of her, she simply couldn’t share in the panic that Bofur’s entire visage seemed to emanate. Instead, she could only admire the beauty of the forest around her—the different colors and the soft scent of flowers, pine and soil. It was…  
Like home.  
A dark shadow washed over her face, then, as the hot breath of a warg spewed its vile scent into her nostrils, pulling her muddled mind from the depths of starry-eyed contemplation. Lyla’s eyes widened as the warg bore down on her, a deep growl emanating from its throat. The orc who sat atop the ward grinned wickedly at the small dazed hobbit. His face—contorted with boils and colored a sickening shade of green—held only a twisted amusement, his pointed teeth glinting like small daggers in his mouth. The sinister creature started speaking down to her, his guttural and gruesome language lost on her delicate ears, though she doubted they meant anything good.   
She also knew that trying to move away from the beast would be a futile effort, though her legs shifted of their own accord.   
‘It’s funny’ she thought, ‘I never thought I’d die under the paws of a warg. It’s certainly an…interesting way for a hobbit to go.’   
“Oi you snarling pup, get off ‘im!” A furious roar emanated from Bofur as he hurriedly descended from the tree, his movements light and sure (much to Lyla’s surprise) and his mattock grasped firmly between his white-knuckled hands. His eyes were narrowed and deep frown was set in his normally jovial face. “I’ll not let you touch him.” He sauntered forward towards the towering beast, a dangerous glint growing in his eyes (a glint, Lyla later learned, showed his determination to fight or die trying).  
Bofur, while his heart was in the right place, was severely outnumbered. The warg perched above Lyla didn’t even move as the others charged at Bofur’s ready form. Lyla’s heart clenched painfully in her chest as she knew the outcome of this. There was no hope for his escape now.   
“Bofur you have to run!” she hissed gazing at him, “Just-just run. Please.” It didn’t seem right, Bofur standing against all these terrifying beasts on her behalf. It didn’t seem fair that he should have to try to protect her.   
“I’ll not leave you,” He murmured in reply, tightening his grip on his weapon, his gaze never leaving the advancing troupe of wargs “You’re part of the company. We stick together.”  
While the sentiment was certainly appreciated Lyla knew this was a fool’s errand and after all the effort to protect him from harm, he would willingly throw away his life to protect her? He was daffy that’s for sure. Now it seemed likely that neither one of them would make it out alive unless outside assistance came and came quickly.   
With a fiercely guttural bellow, Bofur raised his mattock high as the wargs converged on his person. He swung deftly, connecting with one wargs jaw as another snapped at his arms but didn’t have a chance to connect before Bofur’s strong swings knocked the warg aside, the animal crashing to the ground with a yelp. Despite his swift movements, however, the sheer number of wargs outnumbered Bofur’s movements and soon enough he was pinned beneath a warg of his own—his had knocked from his head—and the large beast clawing at the miner’s shoulder. Bofur howled in agony at the contact.   
Lyla let out a shriek of protest and started to rise to help her friend, only to be pressed back towards the ground by a rather large paw and the snapping teeth of a warg on her own shoulder. The pain elicited from the serrated teeth of the huge snarling beast was like nothing she had ever felt before (not surprising since she was a hobbit from the Shire, but that was beside the point). Tears sprang to her eyes as she tried to shy away from the creature and hideous orc who look far too pleased with the damage inflicted. He spoke in low clipped tones and the warg slowly dragged Lyla up by her arm growling and snarling, the foul odor and saliva washing over her making her gag. It appeared they were going to drag out this torture.   
Mercifully the warg clamped around Lyla’s shoulder released her with a painful thud as a loud chorus of battle cries erupted throughout the trees, and the rest of the company came charging through the underbrush, swords drawn and their faces contorted into matching scowls of anger. Dwalin and Bifur, looked particularly enraged and bloodthirsty. Even Gandalf appeared, his newly acquired sword glistening in the sunlight as he charged the orc pack.   
The orc and warg retreated hastily—nearly trampling Lyla—as Bombur and Nori converged, weapons at the ready and a malicious glint in their eyes. Lyla rolled to the side to avoid the fray and (ignoring the pain) slowly maneuvered herself toward Bofur, who had yet to rise.   
“Bofur,” Lyla whispered, hoarsely as she noted the dwarf’s sallow complexion and closed eyes, “Please Bofur open your eyes for me.”  
A low groan escaped the miner and he cracked one eye open, taking in Lyla’s worried features. He let out another groan as he moved his body slowly, attempting to rise, a weak smile playing on his lips.  
“Well, that could’ve been worse,” he mumbled, hissing as he moved his shoulder. Lyla quickly grabbed his elbow to steady him and slowly the two rose to their feet amidst the confusion (thankfully, Fili and Kili were keeping a perimeter of safety around the two of them).  
“It could’ve been better you idiot,” Lyla retorted a weak smile gracing her own lips, “You didn’t have to do that you know.”  
Bofur’s cheerful face contorted, then, into one of sadness and confusion. “You don’t understand do ye lad. You’re part of the company. That makes you as good as family in my book. And you saved my life. I’m in yer debt. It’s the least I can do to protect one I consider kin.”  
A painful knot settled in Lyla’s chest and she rubbed it absently, trying to quell the sudden onslaught of discomfort. Not since the passing of her parents and brother had she felt this deep rooted thrumming in her heart. And here stood Bofur, a dwarf (a dwarf!) claiming her as one of his own family. They’d only known each other a few weeks! That’s hardly any time to get to know someone (let alone someone of a different race than you) and he was fully accepting her and her hobbitish manners. They were a family.  
A family.   
Oh how that word sent trills of longing through her! Until that moment, Lyla didn’t realize how lonely she felt. She didn’t have anyone back in Hobbiton who’d truly miss her. Distant relatives may inquire after her, but no one would truly miss her. Their lives would go on. They’d have others to take up their attention. Lyla, though, had no one. She didn’t have a mother or father to call on her. She didn’t have a brother to look in on her well being. She was alone.   
Was that why she dashed off after this gaggle of dwarves?   
“Are you alright laddie?” Bofur’s gentle hand rested on her shoulder. Lyla snapped to attention, taking in the brows knit in concern and the eyes conveying worry directed at her face.  
“Erm-yes. Yes I’m alright. Sorry,” she murmured in reply, heat rising to her neck. Bofur gave her an encouraging smile and clapped her on the shoulder.  
Prickles of pain shot through her at the contact, reminding Lyla of the injuries her shoulder (and ribs) had sustained in the last few days. Momentarily dazed in a haze of pain, she crouched to her knees, biting back a groan. She noted, however, that the battle seemed to have died down (the howls of the wargs had diminished completely) so she was safe from an further attacks.  
Or so she thought anyway.  
“Confound it all Halfling! Are you so incapable of staying out of danger that you’d compromise the lives of the company because of your foolishness?!” Thorin roared sauntering towards Lyla, grabbing Lyla by the scruff of her shirt and pulling her to her feet. She whimpered in pain at the rough handling and stumbled to catch her balance. Her eyes narrowed at the accusation. Bofur narrowed his eyes at the interaction, carefully assessing the pain on Lyla’s face, though he said nothing (for what could he say to his king?).   
He didn’t have to say anything however. Lyla’s frustration (and pain) had reached its boiling point.  
“Now you listen to me, dwarf,” She hissed biting back a sob of pain, “I am not half of anything and I’d thank you to remember that. And I may be a member of this company and I may be under contract but I am still a Baggins of Bag End and that does not give anyone the right to criticize me in such a manner! How dare you!”  
“How dare I?! How dare I?!” Thorin growled his eyes narrowing, his mouth set into a thin line of disgust. “How dare you address your superior in such a manner! I am a king and the leader of this company and as such I demand that you respect my position and my criticism.”  
“You may be my leader, Master Oakenshield,” Lyla replied her voice hushed to a fierce whisper, pressing her pointed finger to his chest, “But you are NOT my king. I’ve had it with the stubbornness of dwarves! You and your blasted pride and ego,” she frowned as her shoulder and chest throbbed painfully (the adrenaline rush was wearing off) “It would do you good to remember that it is the entire company working together to reclaim this mountain, not you alone! We’re all risking our lives to reclaim your kingdom. The least you could do is show some compassion or gratitude!”  
“You’re more of a burden than you’re name’s worth Master Baggins,” Thorin retorted pushing past her with a rough shove, “And you’d do well to remember that.” Turning on his heels, he walked towards Gandalf and a strangely clad fellow in brown (‘when had that person arrived?’ Lyla absently contemplated).   
If it were anyone else—like Lobelia for instance—then Lyla wouldn’t have hesitated to set them straight, to tell them just how important she was. But this was Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf whose pride and stubbornness ran as deeply as the mountain of gold he was attempting to rescue. There’d be no way to convince him that Lyla was a valuable asset. No, in his eyes, she was nothing but a burden.  
And that knowledge hurt a lot more than Lyla would’ve cared to admit. So here she stood with one dwarf despises her very existence, and another prepared to go to battle for her (Bofur’s glare at Thorin’s retreating form was enough to convince her of that). And Lyla didn’t know how to feel about it all.  
Once Thorin was well away from the small group of dwarves gathered around Bofur and Lyla, Bofur stumbled (slightly) towards her.   
“Ignore that ‘king under the mountain’ lad,” Bofur remarked, setting his hand on the small of her back, “We’ll get him sorted out in no time. You’ll see. For now, though, let’s get your injuries tended to, eh?”  
Lyla’s eyes widened and her heart sped up in panic. Yes, tending to her injuries…well that posed a problem. While she knew it was wise to get her injuries looked at—especially since they ached something fierce—it would present a rather awkward situation for her since no one actually knew she was…well a she. That was far more questions and inquiries she’d rather not deal with. At least not at the moment anyway. Plus, Gandalf presented her as a male for a purpose (one he only knew of) and if it came out that she was a female, that would only give Thorin more ammunition to sever the contract between them. And even though she was unused to traveling and fighting and basically thriving outside of the Shire, something about this adventure brought her a sense of normalcy, of comfort. She couldn’t give that up. Not now.   
“Oh no Bofure, I’m quite alright,” she rasped out, giving a weak smile, “Just a good night sleep is all I need. Yes. That’s the ticket.”  
Bofure gave her a questioning look, his eyes narrowing. “Aye laddie, a good night sleep will do ye some good. But only after Oin takes a look at yer shoulder and ribs. And I won’t hear any argument about it. We both could use a good look over.”   
“Is this really necessary,” panic welled up in her chest. “I feel fine. Really. No need to fuss. And Thorin-“  
“Don’t you worry about Thorin,” Kili chimed in, “If you are injured you need tending to.”  
“But-“  
“You fell from yer pony and the trees lad!” Bofur exclaimed gesturing to the fallen vegetation, “And I know you were hurtin’ something terrible after the trolls got a hold of ye and I saw that warg take a lovely nip outa yer shoulder. It’s best to get a once over.”  
Oh Bofur. Sweet Bofur. His heart resided in the right place, but she just…couldn’t. Despite the injuries she knew were there, she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t prove Thorin right. She couldn’t give up her secret. Not now.   
“Bilbo my dear fellow!” Gandalf’s voice jostled the small group surrounding Bofur and Lyla, “Come here for a moment. I wish to speak with you.”  
Lyla blew out the air she didn’t realize she’d been holding and slowly maneuvered past Fili, Kili and Bombur towards Gandalf and the brown clad man standing next to him, grateful to the wizard’s interference for the moment.   
Now if she could just convince Bofur and the rest that she was perfectly fine, she’d be golden.


	6. Sleigh Rides and Darkened Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kidnapping wizards, a sleigh ride...and Rivendell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the huge response! I've gotten so many hits and kudos and bookmarks! It makes me happy. I'm glad that you guys are enjoying this story, though I wonder if perhaps I'm not engaging enough as a writer. I'm curious to know if I'm overly detail oriented or I don't describe things enough...or perhaps my writing is just stilted and stagnant. Hmm...anyway, she shall see I suppose. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter. Like I said in my last post, I had to spilt the monster chapter into to smaller ones. This one tops out at just over 3,000 words! Yikes. As always let me know what you think about the story. Any commentary you have is welcome and appreciated! I hope to get the next chapter out soon, though it might take longer than I hope because real life is kind of hectic right now. But keep on the lookout for it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Avoiding Bofur proved far easier than Lyla originally anticipated. In fact, she didn’t really have to do much to stay away from the hatted dwarf who was being fussed over by Oin. Thanks to Gandalf’s meddlesome person, Lyla was ushered near the wizard’s side. His purpose (he claimed) for calling her near, was to present her with a small sword.  
“It’s about your size and it’s of Elvish make which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby.”  
She’d be lying if she didn’t admit to the small trill of excitement that flittered down her spine as Gandalf placed the cool metal and sheath in her small hands. An Elvish weapon! And an Elvish sword no less! Yes, a sword would come in handy (It would have come in handy before now…when wargs were attacking them) Though…  
“But, I’ve never used a sword in my life Gandalf,” she admitted, the ever realistic Baggins side of her keeping her Tookish behavior in check (somewhat).  
The wizard, in an almost grandfatherly way replied, “And I hope you never have to. But know this: true courage is not knowing when to take a life, but when to spare one.”  
And that was all the advice he gave her. And a fat lot of good it’d do her, her Baggins half whispered. Without any training, she’d probably be dead before she could consider whether or not it was a worthy cause to spare someone’s life. And more than likely, she’d injure herself more than her enemy ever could.  
It was a hopeless case really.  
But sighing in resignation and unable to part with something so beautiful, taking the sharp object, she carefully belted the sheath of her sword around her hips (mindful of the pain radiating from her ribcage). Lyla followed Gandalf towards the man(?) clad in brown, who smiled brightly at her (and was that bird droppings on his face?) and regarded her person carefully.  
“Ah a young earth child!” He exclaimed exuberantly, “It is a most welcome sight to see a young hobbit for I have not had the pleasure of company from your kind in a very long while.”  
“Oh, uh, well, it’s nice to meet you I s’pose,” Lyla replied. Who was this man?  
“Ah, Bilbo, allow me to introduce to you, Radagast the Brown. Another wizard like myself.”  
Brilliant. Another wizard. He must think her daft.  
Radagast, however, only smiled. “Gandalf tells me that we must make haste to Rivendell and that you may be the key to convincing your..erm…company of dwarves to comply with this?”  
Now Lyla was confused. Why did they need her to convince anyone of anything? Her mind was struggling to move past the constant presence of pain and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. How could she possibly do anything? She shook her head lightly. This was indeed a strange day.  
“I don’t really see how I can be of any assistance honestly,” she remarked giving Gandalf a wary glance. The wizard wore a cheerful expression and completely ignored the hobbit’s worried and questioning gaze. What was he up to?  
“It’s quite simple my dear,” Gandalf remarked, “All you must do is accompany Radagast on his sleigh and the rest will work itself out. The dwarves are sure to follow after their burglar.”  
“Uh-“  
“And this way, your injuries won’t be jostled further,” Gandalf gave her a knowing look.  
“What-what if the dwarves don’t follow?” She murmured, sucking a small breath, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’m not exactly a favorite member of this company…”  
Gandalf smiled gently and nudged her towards the sleigh, “My dear hobbit, all is not how it appears to your eyes. Dwarves are a stubborn lot, it’s true, but often their stubbornness is a ruse to hide their true feelings. Take heart. You’re far more valuable than you realize.”  
Radagast was behind her now whistling softly at the rabbits tethered to the sleigh. Each animal jumped quickly to an alert position, waiting expectantly for Radagast’s command. With another low whistled the rabbits darted forward through the underbrush. Lyla gripped the sleigh too late and nearly toppled off had it not been for Radagast’s presence preventing such. Letting out a shriek at the speed they were travelling she was soon dizzy as bushes and trees blended into a multi-colored blur.  
“Halfing!” she heard a cacophony of shouts echoing after her—anger, panic, and annoyance lacing the word—as Radagast’s rabbits darted further and further from the dwarves.  
“We-we can’t lose them,” she puffed out in a winded whisper, hiding her eyes from the rapidly moving landscape (it was making her nauseous).  
Radagast laughed lightly, “Oh we shan’t lose them. These are rosgobel rabbits. They’re quite intelligent you know. Follow directions and whatnot. No. Gandalf thought it best to give the dwarves a bit of a…motivator…to encourage their cooperation.”  
“You mean they think I’m being kidnapped, yes?” Somehow she wasn’t surprised  
“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”  
‘Oh Gandalf’ Lyla thought dourly, as her stomach lurched painfully as the sled suddenly twisted violently to the left, ‘What a terrible trick!’  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The trip ended quite abruptly, though the wizard urged the sled to weave left and right through (what Lyla assumed) trees and rocky terrain. Radagast pulled to a stop suddenly (so suddenly that Lyla nearly toppled over again) and gave another small chuckle.  
“Alright, little earth-child, this is where I must leave you. Your companions will arrive shortly,” he remarked cheerfully.  
Lyla opened her eyes, expecting to see beautiful buildings and statuesque Elvish men and women gliding about. Instead, she was met with a dark tunnel.  
“You aren’t going to Rivendell?” She was confused. Hadn't Gandalf said-?  
Radagast laughed somewhat uncomfortably, “No no. I-er-prefer the solitary life. Too much company for my liking. And I had best return to the forest before I’m missed there.”  
Lyla stared at him questioningly.  
“Rivendell is just through that tunnel there. You’ll follow it down towards an over look and pathway that leads to the heart of the Elrond’s home.  
Radagast, much like Gandalf, gently nudged Lyla forward (off the sled) and towards the tunnel. Stumbling forward, she eyed the tunnel warily.  
“Couldn’t you just-“ she turned back towards Radagast but realized the wizard has disappeared, nearly silently back towards the forest. “Nevermind.”  
Sighing in resignation, Lyla turned once more towards the looming tunnel, neatly ensconced between two large rock faces, and debated on whether or not to enter the dark cavern on her own. The sooner she made it to Rivendell, the sooner she could assess the damage to her shoulder and torso. But, would the dwarves find her?  
“Halfing!”  
Well, it seemed they already had.  
Lyla whipped around once more (still careful to not jostle her protesting body) and gazed in wonder (and amusement) as the dwarves lumbered towards her, weapons drawn, and fury written in their features. Gandalf trailed leisurely behind a small smile on his face and using his staff as a cane.  
Dwalin and Bofur were the first to reach her, Bofur engulfing her into a tight hug (much to her surprise) and Dwalin peering at her carefully, his eyes narrowed and assessing.  
“Did ‘e hurt you? Are ye injured further?” Bofur’s hands were roaming her shoulders and arms (carefully) gazing for signs of malicious handling.  
“N-no I’m, ah, alright, just a bit shaken.”  
“I’d say so!” Kili exclaimed coming towards her, “Your shout startled all the birds from the area! We thought you’d been taken by orcs or something.”  
The heat returned to Lyla’s ears and neck as she gazed at the ground while Kili only laughed and clapped her lightly on the back. It was embarrassing enough, being carted off by a decidedly odd wizard under the guise of kidnapping, but to have made such a noise in fright! Oh bother it all.  
She chanced a glance back at Thorin, dreading the reaction she’d receive from him. His attention however was directed, not at the battered hobbit, but back towards the tall grey wizard, strolling calmly towards the company.  
“What is the meaning of this!” he thundered, “You have our burglar kidnapped? And for what exactly?”  
Gandalf chuckled, “I did no such thing. As you can see master Baggins is quite safe and sound. I do, however, suggest we move towards the tunnel before any more scouting parties come after us.”  
“Wizard!” Thoring rumbled, standing tall and proud, “My men and I are not stepping foot inside that tunnel. Not until you give us some answers.”  
“It’s quite simple really,” Gandalf murmured, completely unruffled, “That tunnel leads us towards safer paths where we may rest and tend to our wounded or did you forget, Thorin Oakenshield, that at least two of your company require attention?”  
Thorin shot Lyla a deep scowl, obviously still blaming her for the resulting injuries, but sighed in defeat at Gandalf’s logic. He was wise enough to concede that arguing with a wizard was a futile mission.  
“Fine. Lead on then.”  
Gandalf replied with a deep hum of approval and walked past the exiled king and the rest of the company and into the dark passageway. Slowly, the rest of the company filed in after the wizard, one by one (because the pathway was too small) and carefully made their way through the darkened path. Lyla could make out a small blue light coming from the top of Gandalf’s staff and relied on that to navigate as she marched slowly between Dwalin in front of her and Bofur behind, the latter dwarf’s hands resting gently on the small hobbit’s shoulders.  
After a few short minutes, a light loomed ahead of the company, higher than even Gandalf’s towering form and a collective murmur of relief whirled through the company as they slowly continued to move forward. As they got closer to what Lyla assumed was the exit point of the narrow passageway, her sensitive ears began to pick up soft snatches of birdsong and the soft rush of water flowing gently. A soft breeze blew past the company and Lyla inhaled the scents of tree blossoms and warm grass, her tense muscles beginning to relax at the familiar scents. A smile slowly crept on her face.  
That smile, though, would be replaced by a gape of amazement and wonder as she stepped into the sunshine and gazed at the valley below her.  
“Oh.”  
Carefully hidden away from the outside world, sat a beautifully situated settlement. Lyla scanned the area, noting the delicate architecture that blended with the natural backgrounds, vines creeping up pillars and flowering trees lining walkways. Water poured from the mountain faces and small streams wound throughout much of the settlement itself. Lyla closed her eyes in contentment at the sight.  
“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf remarked cheerfully, “In the common tongue it’s known by another name…”  
“Rivendell,” she whispered, excitement and peace bubbling up inside of her. She’d always wanted to travel to Rivendell.  
“This was your plan all along,” Thorin growled and Lyla opened her eyes, noting the dwarf’s furious glare focused on the wizard. “To seek refuge with our enemies!”  
“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf sighed exasperatedly, “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!”  
Lyla’s widened in surprise at Gandalf’s tone towards the dwarf king.  
“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing?” Thorin contended, less furious this time, “They will try to stop us.” He almost sounded pained.  
“Of course they will,” Gandalf replied as though her were talking to a small child, “But, we have questions that need to be answered.”  
He had a point and Thorin knew it.  
“If we are to be successful,” Gandalf eyed Thorin, “This must be handled with tack and respect. And no small degree of charm…which is why you will leave the talking to me.”  
And thus the company moved forward towards the heart of Rivendell, Lyla’s eyes soaking in every color and tiny detail, her heart feeling more at ease than it had in many days. So caught up in the general splendor surrounding her that she nearly forgot about the radiating pain in her shoulder and torso. Almost. She gazed above her at the archways and the delicate engravings adorning each piece of architecture, admiring the beauty the Elves created.  
So caught up in gazing at her surroundings was she that she was thrown off balance when Bofur grabbed her shirt roughly and shoved her into the center of the company, whose weapons were drawn. The pain, once nearly forgotten, came back in full force and sweat erupted on Lyla brow as she bit back a small groan. She was, however, able to distract herself as at least half a dozen elves clopped towards the band of dwarves, riding their large stallions. The beasts pranced around the smaller folk, with the elves (clad in armor) eyeing them warily. One elf, a dark haired fellow adorned with a burgundy breastplate, leapt from his horse and embraced Gandalf.  
“Lord Elrond,” the wizard greeted warmly.  
The two exchanged pleasantries in Sindarin, the meaning lost on the entire company, including Lyla (though she noted how fluid and musical the language sounded in her ear). And then the elf turned his gaze on the dwarves huddled before him. Spotting Thorin he slowing walked forward.  
“Welcome Thorin son of Thrain,” he replied with an air of mutual respect.  
Thorin narrowed his eyes, questioningly, “I do not believe we have met.”  
“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” Elrond replied, “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”  
“Indeed,” Thorin almost sneered, “He made no mention of you.”  
“Nartho I noer, toltho I viruvor. Boe I annam vann a nethail vin,” Elrond remarked gazing back towards Gandalf.  
The dwarves, clearly offended at Elrond’s ‘unitelligable’ speech started murmuring and bristling at the presence of the other elves around them.  
“What does he say?! Does he offer us insult!” Gloing exclaimed pushing forward, axe in hand.  
Gandalf chuckled, “No master Gloin, he’s offering you food.”  
The company converged together whispering and casting suspicious glances towards Elrond and Gandalf. Lyla suspected they were not sure if they could trust the elves or not.  
Gloin cleared his throat as they pulled apart. “Well, in that case, lead on.”  
Lyla would have chuckled if it wouldn’t arouse suspicion that she was sympathetic towards a race that the dwarves clearly did not affiliate with.  
As they followed after Gandalf and Elrond, Bofur’s grip only tightened on Lyla’s shoulder. On either side of her, too, stood dwarves, Fili and Kili flanking her sides and Dwalin and Gloin walking ahead of her. She was surrounded. It was rather…  
Odd.  
Especially considering that she wasn’t a member of the company. Not really. Sure Bofur admitted to liking her. But most of the others didn’t even bother to associate with her. More than likely due to her not truly being a dwarf. She was just an outsider in their eyes. She didn’t really belong did she? At least that’s what Thorin insinuated.  
She was immensely grateful when Elrond offered rooms to the dwarves and Lyla and though most of the company refused separate from one another, she jumped at the chance for a few moments alone before their meal. It would give her ample chance to clean up and assess her injuries away from prying eyes.  
Bofur started to protest her departure until Oin loudly proclaimed that the hatted dwarf still needed assessing. Tugging the miner towards himself, the elderly physician tutted and complained at irresponsible behavior. The two slowly worked their way through the crowded hallway into the large room Elrond had conceded to give the dwarves. Much of the company started to follow, sending wary glances between the elves waiting for Lyla and the hobbit herself. Perhaps they fancied she’d be carted off again?  
“Oi but you need to take a gander at master Baggins. He’s in worse shape than I!” Bofur proclaimed loudly, trying to scramble backwards towards the paling hobbit. She needed to sit down soon. She was getting dizzy.  
“Master Baggins?” Oin questioned, shooting a glance her way, “Aye we’ll take a peek at him once you’ve been sorted. Now off with ye.” He lightly shoved Bofur forward.  
In the chaos, however, Lyla was able to slip past Dori and Nori before anyone could reach her and hurried down the hall, the Elves trailing alongside her—shooting curious glances—but remaining silent. The anxious miner’s voice slowly faded into the background and Lyla felt a pang of guilt and she hoped that Bofur would forgive her.  
With a relieved sigh, she pushed into the room the two stalwart (and silent) elves pointed her too, giving her thanks to Elrond and their assistance. She was momentarily distracted by the muted beauty of the architecture. The light rose coloring on the walls matched the small blanket stretched on the bed. Cream colored pillows cool and inviting were perched on top of the blanket beckoning Lyla’s tired body forward. At the moment sleep sounded far more appealing than food.  
First, though, she needed to get cleaned up and spying a large basin with cool crisp water and linens waiting on the table in the far corner, her spirits rose.  
Unfortunately, her pack had been lost on Myrtle so she had no clean clothing to change into but that wouldn’t stop her from getting as clean as she could.  
Wary of the door and unexpected visitors, she quickly glanced around before slowly removing Dwalin’s cloak (filthy and bloodstained to her annoyance) and then her red jacket and green vest, hissing at the movements and panting for breath. She hazarded a glance at her shoulder where the warg tore through her clothing and into her flesh and nearly gagged at the sight. The fabric on her shoulder was caked in blood and sticking to her skin. She pulled down her suspender straps and, shuddering, slowly unbuttoned her shirt and as carefully as she could, removed her arms from the sleeves and dropped the clothing to the floor.  
By now her breathing was coming in gasps and, with the decreased adrenaline, she felt every prickle of pain coursing through her body. Again she cringed as she observed her torso. The bindings around her chest were digging painfully into her skin that was turning a deep shade of purple. She needed to remove the bindings.  
Carefully, she unwound the bandages and gave a shudder of relief as her lungs expanded and her breathing came easier. And for a moment she sank to the floor and reveled in the pure exhaustion and relief she felt at no longer having to hide. She never would have suspected that Gandalf's ruse would be so difficult.  
A loud banging interrupted her thoughts and she gave out a startled squeak of surprise and scrambled to her feet with a groan darting to grab her things.  
“Halfling open the door.”  
She didn’t have time to put the bindings and shirt back on, so she hastily threw the cloak around her shoulders, grasping the edges to conceal her body and shuffled to the door as another loud pound erupted against the wood.  
“Hobbit! Open up.”  
Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open an small degree and peeked her head around the edge.  
“Master Dwalin?” She questioned hesitantly as the hulking dwarf stared her down.  
“Aye lassie. It’s best if ye let me in before the rest of the company comes looking for you. We’d best have a chat aye?”  
Lassie?  
Oh no.


	7. An Unexpected Conversation and Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin proves his intellect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all wonderful readers! Thank you for the comments and kudos and bookmarks and hits! I was astonished that the last chapter propelled such a response from you amazing readers. I'm a total sucker for readerly affection and I appreciate your consideration and the time and thoughtfulness you put into responding! Thank you! 
> 
> I really hope this chapter makes you happy. Once again I've had to split up a monster chapter into two or so smaller ones. I'm still tweaking the rest of what I have written so we'll see just how large this gets. Right now it's well over 5,000 word so you should be getting about half of it. And this chapter...well...it's a bit of an odd one for me. It's been the source of a lot of thought and contemplation (and avoidance of real life). The interaction with Dwalin took on a whole different direction than what I originally intended but hopefully it's a good chapter for you. And as always please feel free to comment and let me know what you think of it.

Several thoughts crossed Lyla’s mind in that silent moment, as she stared at Dwalin’s expectant face. The first thought she considered was the attempt to run. She was small enough that she might be able to slip past the dwarf and dart a good distance before he could start towards her. But she didn’t think her tender ribs could take the abuse. Not to mention the fact that she was shirtless. Such a display would hardly appeal to the better nature of her hosts (and Dwarves!) No no indeed she didn’t need THAT type of attention (nor such a spectacular way to blow her cover). And she was fairly certain that her father would roll over in his grave if something like that happened to his only daughter. 

Another thought she entertained was to simply slam the door in the dwarf’s face and hurriedly lock it before he could get it open. Though, as she gazed at Dwalin with his taught arms, thick fists and steel boots, his battle axes slung over his shoulder, she knew this would be a foolish pursuit. He could either stop the slamming door with his boot or chop the offending wood with one of his axes if he so desired. And if nothing else, the sheer muscle force in his arms could loosen the wood from the hinges in short order. 

‘And what a shame that would be’ Lyla mused, ‘The door is rather beautiful’

No, she sighed in resignation, there was really only one option. First things first though…

“Just, uh give me a moment master Dwalin,” she murmured blushing at her current state of undress, “Let me make myself presentable if you please.”

However, Dwalin didn’t seem to consider her request as an excuse to avoid the impending conversation and pushed his way into the room anyway.  
Lyla blushed scarlet from her toes to ears and clutched the cloak (Dwalin’s cloak!) tighter around her frame.

“Ex-excuse me! I don’t really think this is a-appropriate!” She stammered, her face aflame.

Regardless of her protests, though, heavy footfalls entered her small sanctuary. She heard a loud ‘thwump’ and hazarded a glance into the room, noting the dwarf sprawled out on her bed (and he was filthy too!). 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be calling my actions inappropriate lassie,” Dwalin muttered (though he had the decency to keep his eyes closed), “I’m not the one deceiving a company of dwarves, s'pecially one who could end yer 'burglaring career' right quick, if ye follow me. Hurry and dress yerself then. Balin’s the one with patience, not me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Lyla quickly grabbed her filthy, bloodstained shirt and turned, facing away from Dwalin’s reclined form. Dropping the heavy cloak, she quickly (or as quickly as she could) threw the shirt around her shoulders, shoving her arms through the designated holes and fumbled to work the buttons up. Her fingers were shaking so badly—from a mixture of embarrassment, exhaustion and pain and fear—that her usually nimble fingers couldn’t function properly. As it was, it was taking far longer than normal to perform such a menial task. 

She had successfully gotten the first three buttons done, when a grumble of annoyance filtered towards her ears. Dwalin sighed in frustration and she heard him approach, his footfalls matching the hammering of her heart. 

“Come here burglar,” He muttered lowly, turning the startled hobbit around (carefully) to face him. She was grateful she HAD managed to get most of the buttons done up (successfully covering her chest and most of her stomach), though that didn’t lessen her embarrassment as Dwalin grabbed her. She simply wasn’t used to being handled this way!  
Grasping her shirt forward he deftly buttoned the remaining pieces of her shirt together and then pushed the hobbit back towards the bed. 

“I think it best if ye sit down a few moments. Don’t need you fainting on me before we’ve had our talk.”

Lyla nodded mutely and slowly clamored on the bed. Dwalin, spotting a chair in the far corner plopped himself down and peered at the nervous hobbit carefully. 

“I suggest ye start talking before I decide to inform Thorin of this little…deception of yours aye lass?” Dwalin, it appeared, wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He stared at her expectantly before his eyes narrowed, “And don’t think of denying the truth lass, it’s as plain as the freckles on yer face.”

Was it really that obvious? Had her ruse really not amounted to much? 

“Well…I-uh…” Lyla wrapped her arms around herself (hoping to disappear from the piercing gaze of the warrior dwarf before her, “It-Gandalf suggested that it be best if I-“

Dwalin swore, then, and leapt to his feet and started pacing about the room clenching and unclenching his fists, “That wizard!” he grumbled heatedly, “Always playing tricks and deceiving. He can’t be trusted I tell you!” he swiveled his gaze back to Lyla, “WHY did he suggest ye disguise yerself? What does ‘e mean by sending out a young hobbit lady to the wild under the guise of a male name? What’s his plan then lass, eh?”

Lyla didn’t really have an answer to that. She suspected that it was because the company wouldn’t take kindly to a female member of the company. But, she couldn’t say for sure what the definitive reason behind Gandalf’s actions was.

“I-er-I’m not really sure…” she trailed off, “I guess he wanted to make certain I was coming along I s’pose.” 

Dwalin stopped pacing and stared at Lyla and grumbled something unintelligible to the hobbit’s ears, before plopping back down into the chair he had vacated only moments before. 

“Yer sure he doesn’t have another motive for lying?” 

When Lyla shook her head in a solid ‘no’ Dwalin grumbled something in the dwarvish language Lyla had heard a few times around the campfire. “That wizard,” he spat the word, “doesn’t know a thing about dwarves then I reckon.”

Lyla was confused. Apparently dwarves like to speak in riddles.

Dwalin stared at her for a moment and then sighed, “Female folk, at least for the dwarves, as well respected. There bein’ so few of them, they’ve had to learn to survive, so it’s no surprise if a female dwarf goes along in a company or down into the mines ter work and earn their keep. They aren’t gentle folk. They are hardy lasses who know how to wield a sword.”

“Oh.” 

Dwalin snorted at her response, “Fili and Kili’s mother, Dis, now she was a warrior.” His eyes softened at the mention of the lady. “She bested her own brother in the fighting ring. Ye didn’t want to mess with that lass. She was a force to be reckoned with.” 

“Her brother?”

Dwalin fixed her with a firm look, a smirk playing on his lips, “Aye, her brother. Thorin.”  
Oh. 

Oh!

Lyla’s eyes widened at the thought of Thorin’s sister (his sister!) besting him at fighting. The dwarf who represented all things rough and battle-hardened, had been bested by his sister! 

It was a comforting notion to say the least. 

“Aye, lasses can be fierce warriors,” Dwalin scanned her face, “in most cases. Which is why I figure that two-faced wizard concocted this disguise of yours.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Lyla murmured, unable to tear her gaze away from the dwarf’s battled hardened one, confused and intrigued by the dwarf's assertions.

Dwalin snorted again and quirked his eyebrow at Lyla, “Oh don’t you? I didn’t take you for a simpleton MASTER Baggins. I thought you were smarter than that. No, I think Gandalf decided to disguise your gender to convince Thorin that you were a valuable MALE asset to this company.”

What?

The blank stare Lyla gave Dwalin made the surly dwarf grumble in annoyance. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and he gazed long and hard at the hobbit curled up on the bed.

“The wild is no place for those who cannot fight nor fend for themselves. And womenfolk who cannot defend themselves certainly wouldn’t convince Thorin to include them in his company, no matter how deceptively charming that wizard can be. We dwarves are protective of women, regardless of whether they can defend themselves or not. But a woman unskilled in weapons and fighting is the type that should not be traveling to meet a dragon. A male could be excused for their inability to fight and taught how to properly defend themselves. Thorin would accept that. Somewhat.” Dwalin sighed, then and rubbed his temples closing his eyes briefly, “But not you. He’d never accept YOU.”

Lyla felt the sting of truth run through her veins at Dwalin’s words. She wasn’t cut out for adventuring. It was far more dangerous and terrifying than she had supposed and she was floundering to earn her keep amongst her fellow company members. Thorin had made that clear. And Thorin never would have accepted her (HER) no matter how marginally, if it weren’t for Gandalf’s ruse. 

With a defeated sigh Lyla closed her eyes and leaned her head back on decorative headboard of the bed.

“I’m sorry to have deceived you all. Truly,” She whispered tiredly, “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not a Took, I’m a Baggins. I suppose I should have never run out my door. I should never have listened to Gandalf. This was a mistake.”

Dwalin gave a grumpy ‘hmph’ and Lyla opened her eyes, her hazel ones meeting his brown (hidden beneath large brows that were knit together in a contemplative gaze aimed at the hobbit upon the bed) “I may have said that you can’t trust a wizard but I never said that you shouldn’t follow his counsel. He appointed YOU to this company. You were his choice and though we may not know the reason, I believe he see something in ye that we have yet to discover. Perhaps there’s a lot more to hobbits than meets the eye and ye have a lot more to offer than any of us know. Including yerself.” 

“But I can’t even-“

Dwalin held up his hand, “If ye look about the company you will see many different dwarves with different problems. Bifur. Bifur can’t communicate exceptin’ in Khuzdul makin’ it hard ter understand him sometimes. And Fili and Kili,” Dwalin rolled his eyes, “Those two young pups are hardly fit to enter battle. They’re barely old enough to be considered adults in our culture.”

Fili and Kili? Really?

“Truly?”  
Dwalin smiled (and Lyla was speechless because of it), “Aye it be true lass. We’re a rag tag bunch of dwarves off te fight a dragon. I guess that makes you a perfect fit for our company aye?” 

Lyla was speechless as she observed the dwarf before her. She never in her entire existence would have pegged Dwalin for the comforting type and yet he sat before her telling her that she belonged in the company. Just as Bofur had. Her chest tightened and a warmth spread through her veins at his words.

“But what about…that is…are you going to inform the others of my-er-of the truth?”

Dwalin shook his head, much to Lyla’s surprise. “I think it best if Gandalf gets his way fer now lass. I don’t know his plans but I’ll not be contendin’ against a wizard.” He fixed her with a firm glare, “But if ye jeopardize this mission, don’t think I won’t hesitate to inform Thorin of yer deception. Clear?” 

Who was she to argue with that? She nodded in quick agreement.

“I-er-that is…thank you. For-for understanding I s'pose.” She smiled hesitantly completely baffled by the turn of events the evening had brought. It just proved that this day was marked as one of the most bizarre of her life.

Dwalin cleared his throat and straightened up at her voice, “Yes…well then it’s time for ye to start earnin’ yer keep in the company.”

“But I-you just said-haven’t I helped?” She MAY have felt a little indignant at that comment. 

Dwalin snorted again and cracked his knuckles, the sound making Lyla’s heart jump (and reminding her once more that one of the toughest creatures to cross her path held her fate in his calloused hands). “Aye you’ve helped in camp, but ye are still untrained and unskilled with a weapon. Yer a liability until ye learn to defend yerself. And I’ll not be lettin’ Thorin’s quest falter because of the weakness of the young hobbit lass dressed up as a man.”

True.

Lyla sighed in resignation at that comment.

“What must I do?”

“We’ll start yer trainin’ in a few days once you’ve rested up a bit and properly healed up that shoulder and ribs of yers. And don’t go thinkin’ you’ve been sly and keepin’ the truth from those of us who are observant," He quirked his eyebrow at her, ”Aye lass, I may not look it, but I’m clearly the smartest of the group.” 

Lyla gaped at him though she did acknowledge that the rough-cut dwarf had a point. Out of all of them, he was the one to figure out the truth first.  
Really she figured it'd be Dori, or Balin or Ori. One of the more contemplative, thinkers of the group. Not this battle-worn, tattooed giant of a warrior who sat quite smugly before her. 

And what an interesting notion it was really.


	8. Dinner and More Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla and Dwalin continue their conversation and then it's off to dinner...with the rest of the company...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness guys! Thanks for such a great response! I loved your comments and questions and praises. You sure know how to make an author feel loved! Thanks for the kudos and the hits and the bookmarks! They made me smile. I really hope that you like this next chapter. It's the second half of the monster chapter that I'd been writing so the pace may seem a little slow. But all the same I felt it was a bit necessary. The next chapter should pick up with some action and a bit of a twist to this already muddled up story. So be on your guard for that. Anway, I hope you like this chapter all the same and that you let me know what you think about it. I'd love to hear from you. Thanks again for your comments and response in general. I appreciate it. Enjoy!

“Ouch!”  
Dwalin let out a low grumble of annoyance.  
“It wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d hold still Halfling.”  
Once they’d established that Dwalin was not, in fact, going to relate his discovery to Thorin, the hulking dwarf insisted upon attending to Lyla’s numerous scrapes and bruises. He had stood and started to pull various pouches of fine power and herbs from the many confines of his person (she wasn’t going to ask just how many different hiding places he possessed) along with several crisp white bandages.  
“How did you…?”  
Dwalin snorted in amusement, “I nicked them from Oin when he wasn’t lookin’.” He gave her a pointed look, “I was figgerin’ you didn’t want anyone else to know about your…condition aye?”  
Lyla nodded in apt agreement, “Yes…that would be…best I think. Though I don’t really need you to look after-“  
“No. None of that,” Dwalin cut her off, “I know yer hurt and if I don’t tend to those bites and scrapes and whatever else yer hidin’ then things could take a nasty turn.”  
“But I’m perfectly-“  
“Don’t make me pin you down hobbit. I’ll not warn ye again. Now relax.”  
And that was that really. Lyla couldn’t very well argue with a dwarf who appeared to be twice her size. It would have been a futile fight and she deemed keeping what little she had left of her dignity in tact thank you very much.  
Dwalin, though, sensing the hesitancy, was very considerate to not reveal more of her should or torso than absolutely necessary. He asked her to unbutton the uppermost buttons of her shirt and slid her arm out of the sleeve and then he carefully maneuvered her arm out of the shirt so he could assess the damage.  
He gave a low whistled at the oozing bite marks, “I’d say yer in a fair amount of pain,” He muttered bringing the wash basin closer and proceeded to clean her wounds.  
Which led to her jerking movements and exclamations of pain.  
When he she shied away from his touch a third time, Dwalin huffed and gave Lyla a firm look, “Now ye best hold still. I don’t have patience for this and times wastin’. If yer willing to blow yer secret then keep movin’, otherwise hold still.”  
Lyla tried to steel her nerves after that. To be honest, Dwalin’s glare was a fearsome thing to behold and she didn’t want to tempt her chances of maintaining such a strong ally so soon. 

Her nerves couldn’t prevent the hiss of pain escaping her lips as Dwalin applied a poultice to the lacerations on her shoulder.  
‘Lacerations. Hmm..at least this particular injury had been covered in the contract’ she mused drily.  
“There,” Dwalin whispered triumphantly, “Done. Now take care not to jostle yer shoulder too much or all my work will be for naught. Now onto yer ribs.”  
He quickly—though gently—unbuttoned a few of the bottom buttons of her shirt and shifted the article of clothing upward to get a better look at her stomach.  
Lyla tried to stop the blush. Really she did. But the red hue proudly stained her cheeks, declaring to the world just how embarrassed she was.  
That is, until, Dwalin pressed lightly on her ribs. Then, the color drained from her face and she let out a low groan of pain.  
Dwalin muttered something quietly and pressed again, this time in a new spot.  
The same response bubbled up from Lyla’s lips.  
“Hmm..” The dwarf murmured sitting back, “Well it doesn’t appear that you’ve broken anything, though there may be a crack or two. The best I can do is give you a poultice for the pain and a draught te help ye sleep tonight.”  
“You came prepared didn’t you?” Lyla whispered with a pained gasp, unable to lift her head from the cushions of her bed.  
“Well, Oin did anyway.” She chuckled at his response.  
Mixing a few of the powders together in his hand, Dwalin poured a little bit of water into the mixture, and slowly worked his index finger into the mix, creating an unusual green paste. Once we was satisfied with the consistency he turned back towards Lyla’s torso and gently rubbed the cold mixture onto her stomach.  
Then, after, cleaning his fingers, he grabbed the remaining bandages and lifted Lyla forward enough to wrap them around her middle.  
If she was red before, she most certainly was cherry-colored now.  
Dwalin, to his credit, didn’t acknowledge it.  
When the bandages were snuggly tucked around her torso, Dwalin gently laid the hobbit back down and gazed at her face for a moment contemplating.  
“It’s best if ye get some food in yer belly. Helps to stave off fever and infection. And, we don’t need the other te ask questions before they’re due aye?” His eyes drifted to her shoulder, “And we’d best get ye something new to wear. Yer shirt’s well done for and I’ll not have ye passing out because yer trying to disguise…” he trailed off a little gruffly, clearing his throat, “Ye can borrow one of mine. It’ll be plenty big.”  
Lyla nodded, “I-erm-thank you master Dwalin.” She appreciated the generosity despite her embarrassment.  
“Don’t mention it lass,” Dwalin muttered gruffly rising to his feet (and Lyla half wondered what would happen if she did, in fact, mention his kind nature). “I’ll be back in a minute with yer shirt. Stay put and let that poultice work.”  
Lyla wasn’t about ready to move so she nodded her head and closed her eyes, listening to the heavy footfalls of Dwalin’s boots and then the almost too forceful opening and shutting of her door.  
She let out a long low breath as her muscles slowly relaxed and the pain in her torso and shoulder started to subside. The paste Dwalin had administered felt cool and calming on her skin, like crisp water from a lazy stream, washing over her body. Each knot and throbbing stab of pain slowly ebbed away as the paste continued to emanate a cool radiating pressure on her.  
It was a glorious feeling.  
But with this relief from pain came the opportunity for Lyla’s mind to start running at full speed. Thoughts flitted through her head at an alarming rate. So many questions bubbled to the surface, begging for answers.  
And when Dwalin returned with a rather large blue woolen shirt with a matching coat and belt, Lyla carefully approached her list of questions.  
“How did you know about-about the truth?” she murmured accepting the clothing and carefully rising from the bed, Dwalin having to steady her shaky footing.  
Dwalin, the gruff and ferocious dwarf that he was, seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking sheepish (sheepish!).  
“Eh-well it wasn’t hard really. You-ah-when it rained I first suspected your secret because you were too slight of build to be male. Of course I wrote that off as a difference between hobbits and dwarves, but throughout our travels I noticed other things too. Ye’d sleep farther away from the company and ye'd constantly fiddle with the buttons on yer jacket always trying to cover yer chest. And then...ye'd slip away during our rests to, ah, relieve yerself…” he trailed off. He really didn’t need to finish the sentence.  
Was she really that obvious?  
“I’m surprised no one else noticed,” she muttered with a frown as Dwalin turned his back so she could put the shirt and coat on.  
Dwalin remained silent.  
True to her assessment, the shirt swam on her, falling to her knees, with the worn sleeves reaching to her fingertips. The tattered blue jacket wasn’t much better, the blue sleeves falling well past her finger’s reach. But they were clean and warm…and comforting .  
She grabbed the large brown belt from the floor and wrapped it around her waist (low enough to disguise her figure) and tried to cinch the thick leather together.  
It would have dropped from her waist, clattering to the floor.  
Dwalin turned around with a ‘hmph’ and a muttered comment about skinny little hobbits with no meat on their bones and grabbed the belt from Lyla’s hands. Eying the belt with a scowl, he reached into his boot and drew out a long silver knife and added a few more notches to the worn leather. Without a word he wrapped the belt around her waist and carefully buckled it around her frame. It hung loosely on her hips, relieving any and all pressure on her torso and shoulder.  
“Thank you.”  
It seemed she was saying that a lot today.  
Dwalin just shook his head. “We best head down to dinner so yer not missed. Bofur was pitchin’ a fit when last I saw him.”  
Yes. Bofur. The others. She’d have to see them soon enough.  
“Lead the way then,” she muttered with a sigh.  
This was going to be a long night. She was certain of it.  
*************************************************************************************  
Dwalin’s heavy footfalls clamored ahead of Lyla’s as they slowly meandered down the tapestry-filled halls towards the dining hall. Lyla could hear snatches of music softly winding through the air—a flute and a harp—creating a delicate, airy melody that described the character of the elves perfectly (at least to Lyla’s estimation that is).  
The pair remained silent for the most part. Occasionally, Dwalin would make a low mutter in his native tongue, but no conversation was exchanged between the two of them.  
But something niggled in Lyla’s brain refusing to abate and leave her in peace. And the closer they got to the dining hall, the more persistent the niggling became.  
“Master Dwalin, I have to ask,” she stopped in the hallway. Dwalin turned to face her, his features schooled into an unreadable mask. Lyla took a breath, “I have to ask, why. Why are you protecting my secret? What do you gain from keeping this from Thorin?”  
“I thought I told ye I wasn’t going to argue with a wizard. It’s bad form to do that,” he replied giving her a quizzical look, his bushy brows knit in confusion.  
“I know that,” she replied in a rush, “But I want to know why you’re giving me this chance. I’m nobody to you, so-so why do you care about protecting me?”  
Dwalin stared at her for a moment, carefully assessing her face, his eyes jumping from feature to feature (nose, mouth, chin, eyes) and then with a small sigh, his gaze dropped. “I don’t profess to fully understand your motives for this quest, but I do understand that everyone deserves a chance te prove themselves. I’ll not be takin’ that away from ye. Maybe ye can return the favor with some of yer scones then, aye?”  
“Oh. Well-I-that…” she was at a loss for words. He'd protect her secret. He'd give her a chance. (and scones? Really?)  
Dwalin cleared his throat. “Let’s get some food, aye lass? No more talk tonight.”  
She nodded her head and the pair entered the double mahogany doors where inside, the quiet murmur of voices and the clatter of dishes resonated.  
Dwalin entered first, his firm footsteps causing the company (who sat huddled around a large table piled with various vegetables and breads and cheeses) to look up from their meals. Their gaze drifted from Dwalin’s person to Lyla’s and back again. Balin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he took in what she was wearing.  
Bofur leapt to his feet.  
“Bilbo! Where’ve ye be hidin’ away? I want Oin to take a look at you,” he grabbed onto her shoulders, mindful of her injury, and gazed down at her attire, “And where did ye get these things?” he questioned taking in her too large coat and rolled sleeves.  
“They’re mine,” Dwalin’s gravelly voice grumbled above the soft music. All heads turned towards the warrior who sat scowling at the food selection.  
“But-“ Began Dori.  
“Master Baggins was in need of new clothing so I lent him my old coat and shirt,” Dwalin growled.  
“His injuries?” Bofur questioned.  
“Taken care of. Now let’s eat, aye?” Dwalin’s temper was rising and he demanded no further questioning.  
“Aye, come on Bilbo and sit by me then?” Bofur gave Lyla a smile and carefully led her to an empty seat between himself and Bifur. Once she was seated the low hum of voices resumed, though several members of the company shot her curious glances. Thorin’s gaze, thankfully, was drawn towards Lord Elrond who appeared to be studying Thorin’s sword (‘Orcrist’ he called it). She was spared further glares from the leader of their company. At least for now. The other members though, didn’t hesitate to gaze unabashed at Lyla’s dress.  
‘So much for blending in’ she thought with a huff  
Instead of focusing on the questioning looks and low murmur going on around her, she turned her attention to the food on the table. She knew she should be hungry. She was a hobbit after all (an underfed hobbit mind you). But her stomach was still in knots and she didn’t think she could stomach very much.  
Bofur had other ideas.  
“Here ye are lad!” He chattered, piling her plate high with breads and cheeses, “The salads not to my taste but the bread’s mighty fine and it’ll get yer strength up.” He poured a burgundy liquid into her goblet, “Can’t have ye losing strength after today’s adventure!”  
He stopped then and gazed at her for a moment and then whispered quietly.  
“I never did properly thank ye for saving me life Master Baggins. It’s a debt I’ll not easily forget and it’s one that I’ll eagerly repay.”  
What?  
“You don’t have to repay anything!” she exclaimed in a rushed whisper, “You saved my life too remember. I’d say we’re even on that score.”  
Bofur considered her words for a moment, “Aye, I suppose so, but don’t think I’ll be forgettin’ yer kindness.”  
“Nor I yours Master Bofur. Believe me.”  
He gave Lyla a bright smile and the hobbit felt a twinge of guilt shoot through her at her deception. How could she tell him though? Would he still accept her if she did?  
“Now!” Bofur’s voice pulled her from her spiraling thoughts, “Ye must answer this question for me then.”  
“Okay.” She hesitated.  
“How did ye convince that old sour-faced dwarf Dwalin to tend to yer shoulder AND lend his clothes?”  
“Yeah!” Kili cut in, overhearing Bofur’s questions, “He’s never nice like that to me.”  
“Or me,” Fili joined in.  
“How’d you do it then?” Kili’s curiosity was insatiable.  
“What does it matter?!” Dwalin snapped, shooting a glare at Kili and then to Fili and Bofur, “What I do is my business and ye’d do better to leave yer noses out of it!” Grabbing a few loaves of bread, the dwarf rose, battle axes still slung over his shoulders, and testily escaped the confines of the dining hall.  
Lyla felt her ears heat up and heard Bofur chuckle at Dwalin’s outburst.  
“I best leave that questioning alone then?” He chuckled, “Just wanted te rile ‘im up a bit.” He winked at Lyla, who suppressed her own smile.


	9. Sleeping, Talking, Eavesdropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin's sleeping draught proves very effective, she meets an unusual character, and encounters the ire of a dwarf king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for so many kudos, hits, comments, and bookmarks! Here's the last part of that monstrous chapter I've posted the last three times I've updated. The total word count toppled the scales at well over 7,000 words so it's a good thing I split it up yes? This chapter alone totaled well over 2,400 words. Hey, it gives you another chapter to read.
> 
> A bit of a forward for this chapter however. It may seem a tad disjointed and honestly it simply wouldn't write any other way. I hope you approve of it and that you give me your honest feedback. I appreciate all the time you lovely readers have taken with this story and the time some of you have taken to post comments. It really brings a smile to my face. Anyway, enjoy!

Dwalin really couldn’t have known that he was giving Lyla too much of the draught mixture. Really he couldn’t. And, in his defense, he’d never dealt with a hobbit patient before. Let alone, what he deemed to be, a frightfully small hobbit patient. 

So it came as a cause for concern among the company, when their burglar didn’t appear for breakfast the next morning.

Initially, Bofur wrote her absence off as exhaustion, but when lunch rolled around and neither hide nor hair of the young hobbit had been seen by anyone, both Dwalin and Bofur became concerned and determined to root out the location of their Halfling. 

Perhaps she’d been carted off by the elves for safe keeping?

Dwalin marched down to Lyla’s room with Bofur, Oin, Fili, and Kili trailing in his wake. Reaching the ornate door, his knuckle dusters scraped at the door as he pounded his fist on the thick wood. 

“Halfling,” he bellowed, “Open up.”

Silence.

Dwalin tried again, pounding on the door harder, “Halfing, are ye in there?”

Silence.

Perhaps she really had been carted off by the elves. Dwalin's scowl deepened at the thought.

Foregoing another round of knocking on the door as a waste of time, Dwalin jiggled the handle and found the room to be unlocked.  
He didn’t hesitate to barge in, the others following in his wake, a cacophony of limbs and grunts as they stumbled through the door. 

The room was dark, except for a few rays of light filtering in through the curtains and the doorway. And not a sound flitted through the hobbit’s temporary sanctuary.

Except for the low hum of breathing.

There, under the monstrously large blanket, curled up with a large pillow a head of curly golden hair peeked out from the bedding. 

Blast it all the hobbit WAS still sleeping!

“Oi Bilbo!” Bofur chortled with a large grin, “Time te get up laddie! You’ve nigh slept the day away.” 

When the hobbit made no movement of acknowledgement, Bofur approached the sleeping creature and gently shook Lyla’s shoulder.

Still no response. 

“Halfling!” Dwalin thundered also striding towards the bed. He shook the young hobbit a little more forcefully than Bofur had (though gentle enough not to harass the injuries the hobbit was nursing).

Nothing. 

“How much of that stuff did ye give ‘im?” Bofur exclaimed as they watched the hobbit sleep peacefully on, oblivious to the audience that was gathered around the bed. 

“Aye, I think we’ve gone and given ‘im too much draught for his small body te handle there Dwalin,” Oin muttered, ear trumpet picking up the conversation though his attention was turned towards the hobbit. Dwalin sent a glare his way, but Oin kindly chose to ignore the offended dwarf. Instead, he checked the pulse point on the wrist staring intently at the sleeping form nestled on the bed. Finding things to be satisfactory he grunted in approval and turned back towards the rest of the dwarves, “The lad’ll be sleepin’ a good long while I wager. Maybe a few hours extra. And he’ll be mighty groggy, but no harm’s been done so it’s best to just wait it out and let the lad sleep.”

Dwalin muttered a few choice obscenities in Khuzdul, “Aye, best let Thorin know we’ll be here at least another day,” he muttered in a defeated tone of annoyance. And as much as he hated to admit it, Dwalin knew he’d be the one to have to tell Thorin. 

Though his admission of guilt didn’t stop him from cuffing Kili’s ear when the younger dwarf started to laugh. 

He’d admit his mistake, but he wouldn’t be laughed at. 

At least his oversight would only cost a few hours.  
****************************  
It was two days before Lyla opened her eyes blearily and stifled a yawn. 

“Oi yer awake!” Bofur’s voice exclaimed as a dark blur clambered towards her. Lyla rubbed at her sleep-drenched eyes to bring them back to focus as warm arms encircled her shoulders.

“Er,” She coughed trying to clear her throat (Bofur placed a cup of water into her hand) “Yes. Sorry. I’ve never had a pain draught before. I suppose I slept a tad longer than normal.”  
She took a long swig of the cool water and then rubbed her eyes again. Slowly the world came back into focus.

She noticed Bofur perched on a chair near the foot of her bed, a large smile lighting up his face.

“A tad longer?” he mimicked her language, “I’d say ye nearly gave Dwalin a fit with how long ye slept! He’s been stompin’ up and down the hall mutterin’ about ingratitude and finicky hobbit needs. ‘Course he’s the one that gave ye the draught an’ all…” He trailed off his smile only growing.

Lyla stifled another yawn with her hand, slowly sitting up so that her head was propped up by the headboard. 

“How,” yawn, “How long was I asleep then?”

Bofur chuckled. “Nigh near two full days.”

“What?!” Two days?! She’d slept for two days? “Oh dear.”

“Aye. Dwalin gave ye too much draught to handle. We couldn’t rouse ye not matter how loud we shouted at ye. Nearly roused the elves into a panic with the ruckus we created,”  
Bofur grinned again, “Oin said ye’d only sleep a few hours longer, though, so after a whole day went by we started te worry. Thorin was right furious.”

‘Of course he was’ Lyla thought with a cringe.

Well that was the last time she’d be using a pain draught. Though she couldn’t deny the fact that her shoulder and torso felt immensely better, if a little stiff.  
With a huff, she threw the covers from her bed and stood up.

And then promptly fell to the floor with a ‘thwump’. 

Bofur was by her side, hoisting Lyla back onto the bed.

“Give ‘em a minute to remember how te work!” Bofur chuckled and Lyla joined in with a few giggles of her own as she massaged her numb feet. 

The yawns continued.  
*******************************************  
The delicate garden surrounding Rivendell beckoned to Lyla and after two days of lying in bed—sleeping off the effects of Dwalins draught—or finding herself flanked by several members of the company (as she had for most of the morning), she was able to escape for a few moments to enjoy the peaceful solitude Rivendell’s gardens offered (promising to refuse any more medication Dwalin offered to her). 

Her ribs were feeling immensely better and her shoulder (according to Dwalin) was healing nicely, though it itched something fierce. She had to consciously refrain from scratching at the bandages, though she didn’t know how long her resolve would last. 

But none of that really mattered once she stepped into the gardens and inhaled the sweet scents of jasmine and lavender, her lungs humming happily. The songs of the birds in the trees, and the gentle breeze whipped around her, enveloping her entire body in the glorious spoils of nature that so reminded her of her beloved shire. 

Oh how she missed it. 

So it was exceptionally pleasant for her to find a small bench off in a secluded alcove of ivy and lush trees, safely cocooning the small section of the garden in a green blanket. Clearly this place was meant for reprieve from the world and Lyla eagerly entered the small sanctuary. Sinking slowly to the ground near the bench, Lyla couldn’t resist the urge to recline onto the grass reveling in the feel of the springy plants beneath her palms, back and legs. She stared upward at the light dancing through the leaves and a bright smile crept on her face. 

“It gladdens my heart to see someone as fond of the forest and flowers as I,” 

Lyla shot up at the low lilting voice and gave a startled gasp at the figure standing before her. Clad in a deep blue gown, with flowing wavy locks of golden hair, an Elvish woman gazed down on her, a smile playing on her lips and her sapphire eyes twinkling in amusement. The light seemed to gravitate towards the woman, bouncing off her translucent skin only lending to her ethereal beauty. 

Lyla caught herself gaping and quickly shut her mouth. “Oh I’m sorry if I’ve intruded upon your solitude,” she babbled, scrambling upward and (slowly) sitting straighter, her ears prickling with the familiar heat of a blush.

The woman held her hand up to silence Lyla, “You have not disturbed my thoughts, Lyla Baggins. I came here seeking you.”

“How did you…?”

The elf smiled, “I know many things. Things that were, things that are…and some things that have not yet come to pass.” 

“Uh-“

“A great power moves in the shadows, unseen, hidden from my sight. It will not show itself. Not yet. But I fear that this quest has set in motion things of a dark nature. Things that cannot be undone, though they still remain hidden from me.” The elf seemed to be talking more to herself, deeply troubled. She eyed Lyla, her gaze narrowing, “But every day it grows in strength. Soon it will reveal itself.”

Why was she telling Lyla this?

“ You were appointed to this company for a specific reason that stretches beyond the desires of the Dwarves to reclaim their homeland. Very soon, your actions may shape the fortunes of all. And if you cannot complete your task, then I'm afraid no one will.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not sure I follow.” Was the woman addled in the head? Lyla was just a simple hobbit out on an adventure that was already proving to be too large for her to handle. She couldn't possibly be left in charge of the fates of...anyone really.

The lady smiled and stretched forth her slender hand towards Lyla. Hesitating for only a moment, Lyla grasped the offered hand and pulled herself to her feet, gazing up at the  
Elf’s smiling face.

“I’ve said all I can for the time being I’m afraid,” she hummed lightly, “But do not be afraid for that which you do not yet understand. All will be revealed to you in time.”  
The elf woman bent down and gently kissed the top of Lyla’s head and for a moment a thought flashed through her mind… A thought terrifying and utterly confusing all at once. Her eyes slipped closed and she shuddered.

No. She needed to rid her mind of this…confusion.

Shaking her head to dispel the thoughts, she looked up at the elf, only to meet empty space.

With a sigh she sat down on the bench and seriously contemplated returning to her room to take a nap. She wasn’t too certain what she just experienced wasn’t some elaborate dream her mind had conjured. 

‘She didn’t even tell me her name. I must have been dreaming.’ Determined to throw the thought of the elf woman from her mind, she scrounged her brain for something to distract her. 

And then she heard it. 

A low, gravelly hum slowly wound through the leaves and settled in her sensitive ears. Instantly her mind turned towards the soft melody. It was coming somewhere to her left. Slowly, she rose from the bench and quietly edged towards the trees, peeking her head through the leaves and low hanging branches. 

A figure sat underneath one of the larger trees, back to Lyla, dark hair splayed in rivulets down his back. Clad in a dark blue tunic and black breeches, the dwarf (for that is what he was) was busy whittling a piece of wood, the shavings pooled around his legs. All the while, he hummed a somber, dark tune.

‘Thorin’ Lyla’s mind whispered in a hushed reverence for the moment. To her the dwarf king appeared more vulnerable than she had ever seen him before. His great coat missing, and his sword laying carefully at his side, the dwarf seemed almost at complete ease. 

Almost.

As Lyla watched, the low hums slowly turned to low words, his deep timbre echoing inside Lyla’s head as a deep aching pain settled in her heart.

‘The pines were roaring on the height  
The winds were moaning in the night.  
The fire was red, it blazing spread.’

“The trees like torches, blazed with light.” He murmured the last part, with a soft sight as his fingers deftly brought the sharp knife to the wood, working with exact precision to create…well Lyla wasn’t quite sure. She couldn’t see that well. 

She took a step closer to get a better look.

The sound of a snapping twig beneath her feet alerted Thorin who stiffened, turning his gaze towards the sound and, consequently, falling on Lyla. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her.

“Spying is rude,” He muttered darkly, rising to his feet, “Or were you not taught that as a child.”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” Lyla mumbled embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. 

“Why is it, Halfling,” the word came out almost as a sneer, “that you seem to be the source of all my ire on this journey? You manage to derail all our plans. Tell me how you are of any benefit to me if all you manage to do is confound this mission.”

“I’m not trying to ‘derail’ anything,” Lyla replied her own ire rising, “It’s not as though I’m intentionally mucking things up.”

“Mores the problem,” Thorin snapped stepped towards her adjusting his sword back around his waist (the knife and block of wood missing), “As far as I can see, you’ve been nothing but a hindrance and a burden. I know not why that wizard decided you were fit to embark on this journey if only to laugh as you bumbled through the wilderness coaxing all manner of ill will to fall upon us.”

“Hey!” Lyla squeaked indignantly, “You can’t write me off as a bumbling idiot. You’ve never given me a chance.” 

“I don’t need to give you a chance, Master Baggins,” Thorin was inches away from her, peering down his nose, blue eyes blazing, “I know you cannot fight and that is testament enough to know of your ineptitude at survival. One day alone in this wilderness and you’d be dead. If not for the charity of some of the company, you’d have been eaten by those blasted trolls. Be thankful you have been show such kindness thus far. But don’t expect me to stoop to such a level. You deserve neither my kindness nor my charity. I cannot and will not guarantee your safety. Nor will I be responsible for your fate.”

“I never asked you to.”

“And,” he pushed past her, ignoring the retort she threw back at him, “I suggest you acquire an ounce of humility for you are far more expendable than you realize.” He stopped then and cast a glance back at her, “Be prepared to leave at dawn. If you aren’t ready, we’ll leave you behind. I will no longer cater to the weaknesses of our so called burglar any longer.” 

Lyla watched the dwarf disappear beyond the trees. She carefully rubbed at her chest to quell the pain that blossomed there.


	10. Move Yer Feet!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Practice makes perfect...or makes Lyla marginally better than she was before. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the follows, bookmarks, hits, kudos and reviews! I loved the response! It makes my day to know that people actually read this work. Anyway, sorry it's taken a little while to get this chapter out. Real life has been hectic. I'm fairly certain I may have sustained a stress fracture in one of my legs from running (curse my flat-footedness) so I've been dealing with that pain. But, here's a little chapter to hopefully make up for the delay. For me, this chapter felt like a transition chapter so I apologize if you aren't as intrigued by it. I should hopefully have the next installment in within a few days. It's almost written out, but I thought I'd post something to tide you over until then. Big things ahead people! Big things! 
> 
>  
> 
> As always I'd love to hear from you and I do appreciate your support. Thanks!

“You have to move Halfling. Don’t stand there gaping at me like a dead fish. Do something!” Dwalin’s stern reprimand pierced the air as Lyla desperately tried to retain all the information the dwarf was throwing at her. 

The morning after her uncomfortable interlude in the garden, the dwarves and their hobbit burglar had silently slipped from the confines of Rivendell’s borders thanks to Gandalf’s foresight that the white wizard would impede their journey further.

‘I will meet you in the mountains when I can spare a moment’ he had said.

And now as they camped at the base of the Misty Mountains, Gandalf had still not arrived. And Thorin, anxious to prevent further delay to his plans, was not apt to wait for the finicky wizard much longer. In the morning they’d head into the mountains without their wizard guide.

The few days journey—with Bofur, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin relieving her of hernewly acquired pack (thanks to the elves)—did give Lyla a chance to heal up enough to begin training with the warrior-dwarf Dwalin. 

That very evening during supper, he had thrust a short, broad piece of birch into her surprised hands and declared her fit enough to start ‘earnin’ HIS keep’. Though he did promise to start out easy and slow for her since she was still on the mend. 

“I’ll not have ye hurtin’ yerself further,” he had grumbled, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over Lyla’s shoulder.

So here she stood awkwardly gripping a stick, trying to remember all the instruction Dwalin had just mentioned, with the salty sting of sweat trickling down her forehead and into her eyes, matting her cropped curls to her scalp and making her feel rather ghastly to be honest. 

And this was the easy training? She was already exhausted and dreaded what a regular training session would consist of.

“Move yer feet hobbit!” Dwalin growled again as he slowly circled her, “Ye’ll be dead in short order if ye keep staring off like some lovestruck pup. Move it!” 

Right. 

Stay focused.

Move feet. 

Got it.

Unfortunately, her attempts to focus didn’t prevent Dwalin from knocking her stick to the ground with a loud ‘thwack’ with only a stinging sensation smarting across her palms as proof she had at one time held the ‘weapon’.

That was the third time he’d done that.

Dwalin grumbled something unintelligible to Lyla’s ears (though she suspected it was a curse) and sent the hobbit a glare.

“And ye have to move yer feet Master Baggins,” Dwalin was exasperated by this point, “Standing still makes ye more of a target. Now retrieve yer practice weapon and we’ll do this again. I’ll not let ye rest until ye show some improvement!” 

Lyla had a feeling that it was going to be a very long evening.

After Dwalin knocked her practice stick out of her hands a fifth time, Balin interjected.

“If I may ask, Master Baggins, do ye know how to dance?” The wizened dwarf sent her a small, placating smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Lyla replied regarding Dwalin’s shorter, less intimidating brother suspciously. “Every hobbit knows how to dance.” 

“Well that’s good then!” Balin remarked cheerfully getting comfortable on a large boulder near Lyla and Dwalin’s sparring match, “Just employ those dancin’ skills to your sword fightin’ and you’ll be grand!”

Lyla stared confusedly at Balin. Clearly, the dwarf had never actually seen how hobbits danced. It was nothing like the movements Dwalin was trying to teach her. It was more…flowery, exaggerated, intricate…

And to top it off, Lyla wasn’t very good at dancing a hobbit dance anyway. Her graceless movements never complimented her partners (if she ever actually HAD a partner at a dance that is) So, that advice wouldn’t do her much good.

Sort of like the advice Gandalf had given her about using a sword in the first place.

Still, she might as well try. With a long-suffering sigh, she readied the stick in her hands and faced Dwalin, careful to watch his footwork. That was a key to hobbit dances really. Matching your partner’s movements and mirroring your body to theirs. She didn’t need to bother with aesthetics.

Dwalin moved left.

Lyla moved right hesitantly, wary of what the dwarf would do next.

She didn’t have to wait long for some large display of power as Dwalin quickly dispatched his weapon and lunged forward. Lyla, noting that the dwarf was heading towards her right quickly maneuvered her body left, dodging the majority of the blow he delivered on her.

It wasn’t enough, however, to prevent her stick from flying from her fingers, nor stop her from tumbling to the ground with an ‘oomph’ as her bare feet stumbled over the rocky terrain. 

But she moved. That counted for something right?

“Aye laddie,” Dwalin said, “That’s a start. Not much of one, mind ye, but a start nonetheless. Now, up. We do it again. This time try and block my blow with the hilt of yer sword.  
Yer weapon is more than just an attack piece. Ye can defend yerself nicely with the right movements.”

She tried Dwalin’s advice on using the hilt of her sword to block his hit.

Her knuckles smarted from the contact and she dropped her practice stick again.

“Again halfing,” Dwalin commanded, readying his stance. 

“Let me Dwalin.”

Lyla’s head jerked up in shock as Thorin Oakenshield strode forward, having removed his great coat and tied his long onyx hair back from his face, the streaks of silver glistening. He took the whittled stick from Dwalin’s surprised fingers and turned to face Lyla, who was still on the ground.

“On your feet Hobbit,” Thorin remarked gruffly, flexing his fingers, “Let’s see if you can dodge a few of my blows.”

Bebother it all.

Lyla’s stomach twisted in knots as she noted the entire camp had stopped to stare at the two of them curiously. Apparently she wasn't the only one surprised by Thorin's sudden interest in her weapons training. She noted that Bofur had his eyes narrowed, shifting between gazing at Lyla and Thorin, his own fingers taut on the handle of his mattock.

Was Thorin doing this to prove a point? About how inadequate she was? 

Resignedly (for she knew there wasn’t much she could do about the situation) Lyla rose to her feet and gripped her own battle stick in her hands, her knuckles going white.

Thorin’s movements were far more controlled than Dwalin’s had been. Where Dwalin used his brute force to intimidate his opponents, Thorin did not. He didn’t outright lunge at her. 

Instead he prowled.

Slowly circling the small hobbit, as though a predator stalked its prey, he inched his way ever closer, muscles taut in anticipation, yet his face the picture of composure and ease. Lyla could see just why Thorin Oakenshied was such an efficient warrior. He betrayed nothing. She couldn’t decipher what the master dwarf was thinking. All she could do was mirror his movements (sort of) and hope for the best. 

Then his eye twitched.

In that infinitesimal moment, where Thorin’s stony façade faltered, Lyla suspected something was about to happen. She tightened her grip once more and prepared for the onslaught from the dwarf who she knew would move too fast to dodge. 

She wasn’t disappointed. 

The force of Thorin’s blow against her own weapon was like stone crashing against sand. Her wrists buckled at the bruising force and her grip started slipping as a shockwave jolted through her arms.

But she wouldn’t let go. She had to hold on. She couldn’t give Thorin more ammunition in his disregard for her.

Where Dwalin was good at striking to the side, using brute force to knock her grip off balance, Thorin attacked her straight on, his movements more tightly controlled, forcing his opponent to give their all to protect themselves. But his method of attack did give her a small leeway to keep the weapon in her hands. 

And she did. She gritted her teeth and held her shaking arms upward, as Thorin’s weapon bore down on her. She fought against the sheer weight he put into his attack and managed to keep her own weapon securely clasped in her hands.

For a moment at least. 

Her wrist finally buckled completely, and she lost the grip on her practice stick, the force of Thorin’s body pressing her backwards, stumbling. His face was inches from her own, a furious glint in his sapphire eyes as he peered down at her.

And then he stepped away.

“Again, Halfling,” He murmured, his low timbre echoing. The camp was silent except for Lyla’s panting and Thorin’s soft command.  
So she grabbed her stick and prepared to go against the king again. 

Thorin ran her through her paces six more times, attacking her from different angles, forcing her to move her stick to try and block his onslaught. He varied his speed and force of the attack, throwing Lyla off guard and making it impossible to associate a pattern to his movements.  
She never managed to keep a hold of her weapon for long as a result.

Thorin never said a word either. No instruction was given, nor praise or derisive comments exclaimed. The dwarf remained completely silent, assessing their sparring match with a critical eye and only speaking when he commanded her to rise time and time again to prepare for another attack. 

Finally, when her muscles cried for a reprieve and sweat poured down her neck, her cheeks flushed from exertion, did Thorin concede to ending their practice. Giving Lyla a curt nod, he turned to Dwalin and handed the practice stick back to his dwarf comrade.

“He needs to work on his grip. And make sure to practice footwork or he’ll never keep his sword in his hands,” Thorin remarked offhandedly, walking further from Lyla and Dwalin.  
What he said was true, though that didn’t stop the embarrassment from creeping up her spine. She knew that he, like Dwalin, had been holding back and the thought that she couldn’t even handle the ‘easy’ sparring matches, sent an uncomfortable weight plummeting into her belly. Swordplay was not her forte but she wanted to prove she deserved to be on this quest. 

She was grateful that, at least Thorin wasn’t yelling about her ineptitude this time

Which was…decidedly odd.

And utterly confusing. Lyla was certain she’d never fully understand dwarves. 

“We’ll take this up again tomorrow if the terrain allows it. I expect ye to be practicing when ye have a chance though,” Dwalin gave her a stern look, his bushy eyebrows knit into a furious ‘V’ shape. 

Lyla sighed and nodded, her body exhausted from the new exercises she’d endured. Dwalin’s face softened slightly as he gazed at her.

“Yer an observant creature,” He remarked, clapping her lightly on the shoulder, “use that to yer advantage to outsmart yer enemies. You’ll make yerself less helpless that way.”

“Alright,” She murmured, casting her eyes at the ground, a small sense of pride swelling in her chest where Thorin’s disparaging comments once resided. She wasn’t good at sword fighting. Far from it. But, she was learning and Dwalin acknowledged that.

That counted for something. Right?

After she had mopped the sweat from her brow thanks to Bofur’s handy little—if a bit dingy—pocket square, she simply sat on her bedroll and stared at the stars, content with solitude. The others—barring Thorin and Balin—sat near the fire, merrily trading stories and roasting bits of meat over the flames. Their voices of merriment floating over the entire encampment made Lyla feel a sense of ease she had not known in awhile.

Bofur shot her a toothy, genuine smile which she returned with an honest sense of gratitude for the dwarf’s friendly behavior and acceptance. But she was too tired to move and was far more content to observe the interactions of the company around her. 

Ori, with his thick green sweater, sat near his brother Dori, furiously scribbling in his journal, a bit of ink smudged on his hand. His brother, Dori was carefully sharpening his sword, shooting his studious brother curious glances every few moments, a soft smile on his lips. Nori, Bombur, and Bofur sat together roasting their meat and conversing quietly laughter erupting every few moments. Bofur’s hat sat askew on his head as he tumbled backward, his laughter getting the best of him for the moment. Dwalin and Bifur sat quietly, both absorbed in their own tasks—Dwalin polishing one of his many weapons and Bifur carefully carving a figure from wood. And Fili and Kili were reclined on their bedrolls, boots discarded and eyes closed, soft murmurs escaping their lips every few moments. 

It was quite the serene picture if Lyla was honest. 

Then she shifted her gaze to the leader of the company who was in a rather intense debate with Balin. Their heads were knit together and Balin’s hands were gesturing wildly around him. Thorin was shaking his head adamantly, newly freed ebony locks tumbling past his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest. 

She half wondered what the fuss was about (the other half of her didn’t want to attempt to know the answer certain that it would bode ill for her). 

A soft, contented smile worked its way on her lips at the scene before her. Despite the hardship, she felt a sense of accomplishment and familiarity out here in the wild with thirteen dwarves for company. Before Rivendell that didn’t appear to be even a remote possibility. And now? 

Now she felt a kinship to this unruly, confusing group of stubborn, pig-headed, arrogant creatures. 

Yet another odd development indeed.


	11. Slip, Slide and Thunder Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain is a nuisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thank you for the love and support! Kudos, hits, reviews and all that wonderful stuff! It's most appreciated and it makes this writer feel so much love! I often wonder if my writing is at all interesting and you guys prove that at least some people enjoy what I do, so I keep going. Thanks for that! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a bit shorter than my others, but seriously I couldn't end it any other way. It simply wouldn't write any differently. So I apologize if you were anticipating a long winded chapter (because I do write a lot let's face it). However, I will have another chapter up in the next few days so that should bring you comfort. 
> 
> As always I'd love to hear from you. I'd love to know your opinions, concerns, thoughts, ideas, speculations...you name it! 
> 
> Enjoy your day my lovely readers and know that I appreciate your continued support!

Something wet was tickling Lyla’s nose. Annoying thing it was really. She grumbled and swatted at her face. 

Drip.

Blast it all! What was that?

Grumpily, she opened one eye. And was splashed by a water droplet for the effort. 

Of course it would start raining. 

Heaving herself to her feet, her joints stiff from the earlier bout of weapons practice, she noted that it was still mostly dark, but everyone was on their feet and collecting the supplies. They couldn’t sleep through the impending downpour (if the dark billowing clouds were any indication) so it was prudent to either continue the journey or find shelter.  
She didn’t need Thorin Oakenshield’s shout to move on to know which they’d be doing. She’d been in the company long enough to recognize an impatient dwarf when she saw one. 

And Thorin was the epitome of impatient. And hot headed…

And he was pointedly ignoring her. 

Which rubbed Lyla the wrong way if she was being honest. True she wasn’t the most battle ready member of the company but just because she wasn’t as skilled as the other didn’t give that pigheaded grumpy sod the right to gruffly mistreat her. And with their sparring match Lyla found herself even more confused by the Dwarf king. His actions and emotions seemed to flit back and forth to the point where her head ached just trying to deduce his true character.

Well, there was nothing for it really. She was certain all her worrying would do is give her a headache. And why should she care whether or not the dwarf even remotely cared a little for her? She wasn’t so selfish and proud to expect to acquire everyone’s good opinion was she? 

With a sigh she stuffed her now sopping bedroll in her pack and donned the cloak Dwalin lent her (cleaned of blood and stitched up nicely) and hefted the pack onto her shoulders. She needed to focus on other things instead of the dwarf who was adjusting his sword around his waist, his dark hair dripping down his shoulders in soft waves and the way his shirt clung to his broad chest because he’d forgotten to put on his coat…

‘Stop it Lyla’ 

She felt the heat on her neck and drew her eyes away from the company’s leader. How absurd that she should admire that over-zealous dwarf!  
But he was handsome…

Bah! Stop it!

**************************************************

Six hours of slogging through muddy and rocky terrain and the entire company was grumbling in annoyance and frustration. Tempers were running high and Lyla knew better than to attempt conversation with anyone. Barring Bofur of course. That dwarf never seemed ruffled by any inconvenience and cheerfully whistled a tune as he lent a hand to Lyla, who had slipped on the steep incline, the frigid water running down her back. 

“Careful there master Baggins! Wouldn’t want to take a little tumble, aye?” Bofur chuckled.

Lyla did NOT share his sentiment. That LITTLE tumble, had it happened, would have sent the hobbit careening into the darkness below…far below…

Little tumble indeed.

Still Lyla was grateful and mumbled her appreciation accordingly. But for the most part she remained silent, determined to keep her footing in this muddy, slick terrain that her hobbit feet for so unused to. She observed how the dwarves moved, carefully, sure-footed, and she envied their ease in navigating rocky terrain, rain or shine. No, her feet were far more suited for woodlands and small dirt paths leading to her smial where a nice warm cup of tea, her armchair, a cozy blanket and a good book would be most welcome—

Another fat splash of rain trickled underneath her clothes and she sighed.

It’d do no good to dwell on home. She was far from it and needed to focus on the reality of her situation. 

A large blast of thunder drew her gaze upward. And her heart nearly stopped in shock. 

The rocks were moving!

“This is no thunder storm!” Balin exclaimed, “It’s a thunder battle. Look!” He pointed and Lyla’s eyes widened at the realization that the mountains were starting to take on the forms of men, with legs and arms, a torso…

“Well bless me the legends are true!” Bofur chattered, clamping a hand down on his hat, a grin on his face, “Giants! Stone giants!”

Lyla was certain that THIS right now was a good reason to stay in the Shire. Stone giants? As if she weren’t short enough. Now she had to contend with giants impeding (or in this case completely destroying) her pathway, making it impossible to continue on this journey! 

Then the ground started moving beneath her feet and Lyla was pitched forward, nearly toppling again into the ravine below if not for Dwalin’s quick grasp on her cloak and Kili’s steadying hand on her arm. Lyla gazed upward again and her stomach plummeted (probably down to the ravine) as she gazed at the form of a stone giant rising to meet its opponent.

And they were trapped on a stone giant’s knee of all places. 

Lyla watched the horrified faces of half the company disappear (Bifur, Thorin, Balin, Oin, Gloin, Fili) around the other side as they two were trapped on the opposite knee of the giant. 

“Kili!” Thorin’s and Fili’s voices cried above the fray of battle and rain and Lyla watched the panicked look overshadow Kili’s features as his uncle and brother disappeared.  
They appeared a moment later, however, and Lyla watched in fascinated horror, gripping onto the stone any way she could, that they had jumped from the knee of the giant a more stable (i.e. not moving) mountain face. 

They were safe. 

Thank goodness.

The same, sadly, could not be said for Lyla and the rest of the company. They each clung to the rocks, desperately trying to find a sure foothold against the movements of the giant, who—by the looks of things—was losing his battle.

A massive boulder was tossed at the giant’s head and the force of the blow knocked the stone creature sideways, its legs twisting, so that Lyla, Bofur, Kili, Dwalin and the rest were sent careening towards the rock face Thorin and the others had safely leapt to. The speed at which they were travelling, however, ensured that Lyla and the others would not be as fortunate to enjoy such a soft landing. The giant’s knee was going to smash into the rock face. Each of the dwarves grasped each other’s arms as they braced for impact. 

But just before connection, Lyla slipped, the slick terrain (and lack of footwear) sucking her beneath the armholds of her companions. She tumbled, pitching forward and threw her arms out, desperately trying to grasp onto something.

Anything. 

Her fingers found purchase (thankfully) on a small ledge holding and Lyla clung for dear life (for her life DID in fact depend on it). She tried to call out for help, but the words were stuck in her throat, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. 

Was anyone even alive to hear her anyway?

Thorin’s voice echoed above her as he shouted his nephew’s name

“No! Kili!” And then a relieved sigh.

“It’s alright!” Gloin exclaimed, “They’re alive!”

Lyla tightened her grip on the rocks trying to pull herself upwards.

“Where’s Bilbo? Where’s the hobbit?” Bofur’s voice, tinged in worry rocketed her ears and a small squeak of fright escaped her lips.

“There!” Shouted Ori and Kili and suddenly, as Lyla looked upward, she saw Kili, Bofur and Ori above her, arms outstretched trying to reach her.

“Grab my hand!” Bofur shouted extending his arm as far as he could.

Lyla let one hand go and reach upward.

Her grip slipped.

With a startled cry, she fell further, her palms scraping against rock. By sheer will she clung to the side of the mountain, her feet dangling, unable to find a foothold.

“Get ‘im!” Dwalin’s voice roared above the others as he too tried to reach her. 

Kili, with Fili’s arms encircling his legs, dropped down and reached the startled hobbit.

“Grab my hand master Boggins!” Kili shouted, extending his arm towards her.

Lyla reached out again and scrambled to grab ahold of the young dwarf’s fingers. His large warm hands encircled her tiny wrists as he brought the hobbit closer to his own body, his grip tight and comforting.

“I won’t let you fall. I promise,” He reassured. 

But Kili should have known that you can’t make promises like that. Not on this adventure. 

The footing beneath Fili’s feet crumbled and he, along with Kili and Lyla tumbled over the side of the mountain. 

The only sign of their presence were the surprised and startled cries that escaped their lips.

And the horrified howls of the company and Thorin Oakenshield as they shouted their fallen members' names.

“Kili! Fili!”

“Bilbo!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. people, if you haven't checked out Luckyhai5's story "Good Morning" go and take a gander at it! It's fabulous really and you will all enjoy the plot, the characters and everything! Seriously go! http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	12. Tumbling Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here there be feels. And Riddles. And more feels. I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the great response to the last chapter that I posted. It really meant a lot to this author who is sitting in bed in her pajamas with a nasty cold and a very sore leg that still refuses to heal nicely. Bother it all! But your comments, follows, kudos, and hits made me smile. So thank you! I'm one happy little writer. 
> 
> Anyway, it gave me some ample time to write and the resulting chapter is quite the doozy. At least I think so...so be sure to let me know how you feel about it. 
> 
> Oh and if you guys didn't know, the new trailer for "The Desolation of Smaug" is out so I suggest you go and have a geek out moment and enjoy that stuff. It's epic people. 
> 
> And, if you guy's haven't read LuckyHai5's story 'Good Morning' I HIGHLY suggest you do. It's AMAZING as I'm sure some of you can attest to! Go! Take a peek and enjoy!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347

The first time they collided with the mountainside as they plummeted, Kili managed to turn Lyla and himself, and holding her as close as he could manage, placed himself so that his body took the brunt of the force. He let out a low groan as they were rocketed downward and Lyla felt her heart constrict in fear.

She would never forgive herself is he didn’t survive.

*************************  
The second time they collided with the mountain, Lyla bounced from Kili’s grasp with a muffled cry.

“Bilbo!” She heard him shout at her, desperately trying to reattach his hold on Lyla’s arms.  
But it was all for naught. 

And she felt the sting of the rocks on her bare arms as she tumbled and scraped along the mountain’s edges.  
Her shouts echoed in her ears as the wind whipped past her.

“Fili! Kili!”  
***  
She wasn’t aware of the third collision with the mountain.  
***  
She was forced back to consciousness by rainwater, trickling into her nose and mouth causing her to choke and sputter, gasping for air. Blearily she opened her eyes and found herself gazing at a looming mountain face above her, water droplets relentlessly pounding her face. Her head throbbed and the world tilted slightly as she tried to sit up.  
She had landed on a small ledge leading into a cave.

But she had landed alone. 

There was no sign of Fili or Kili. 

But sitting in her hand was one of Kili’s rings, having slipped off his finger in their tumble. She brought the ring up to her face with shaking fingers

The blood rushed to Lyla’s ears, like crashing waves and nausea overtook her senses.

By Aule no.

Oh please no!

“Fili! Kili!” She shrieked, her voice drowned out by the thunder and rain, “Fili! Kili! Please!”

She screamed until she was hoarse.

And, when no answers came, bile rose in her throat and tears pricked her eyes as her stomach relieved it contents, soft sobs escaping her lips. 

They had tried to protect her.

To save her. 

She clenched her fist to her mouth to bite back the sob the threatened to overtake her. Her shoulders started shaking as fat salty tears slipped down her scratched cheeks.  
She rocked back and forth trying to quell the surge of emotions, but they would not abate. 

Blast those foolhardy, proud, reckless, wonderful and caring dwarves!

More tears slipped down her cheeks, mixing in with the rainwater.

And she was responsible for their-

No. She couldn’t think it. 

NO.

Taking a shuddering breath, Lyla slowly crawled to the mouth of the cave, sending a pleading to the makers above for the safety of two young, foolish, kind-hearted dwarves. 

It took Lyla a good few minutes to get her footing steady enough to explore the cave. After all what other option did she have? It was either face the ledge or try and find a way out of the mountains and back to the company.

Though she wasn’t sure she’d be too welcome back. 

She had to take a few deep breaths to keep her emotions in check. 

The cave expanded back into a series of tunnels leading down into the mountain and Lyla, whose eyes were unused to such dark places stumbled her way further and further from the entrance. She hoped that she’d find somewhere that would take her back up to the pathway. Somewhere that she could find a familiar face or a familiar road. 

She was fortunate that she had retained her sword, though she hoped she wouldn’t meet and unsavory creatures.

Her new pack was gone though, and with it any supplies she had so finding her way out was a paramount issue. One that needed to be remedied quickly. Not that it mattered much. She could care less than two straws about that pack or finding her way out really. She was just a lowly hobbit. She’s much rather-

‘Stop Lyla. Stop.’ 

Her foot caught on a large unseen stone and she tumbled forward, rolling down a steep incline and downward, unable to stop her momentum.  
With a gasp of shock she splashed into a frigid body of water, the air from her lungs bursting from her lips with a loud ‘whoosh’. She floundered, kicking her feet, waving her arms and gasping desperately for air, trying to keep her head above water.

Then something grabbed at her, heaving her upwards and onto dry ground. Choking, she hazarded a glance at her rescuer. 

And blanched. 

There before her crouched an unusually pale creature with scraggly hair, pale, spotted skin stretched too thin over his bony limbs, a wide gaping mouth with rotting teeth and two large, haunting blue eyes. 

Two large blue eyes that were peering at her in a most curious manner. 

“Well bless us and splash us,” the creature crowed, “that’s a meaty mouthful.” 

Lyla was on her feet and had her sword out before the creature could lay a finger on her. The creature’s already wide eyes widened further and it started hacking 

“Gollum Gollum.” 

“Back,” she whispered hoarsely, “stay back! I-I’m warning you.” She waved the sword in front of the creature, who continued to stare at her curiously, as if it were trying to piece together a puzzle. 

“What is it, precious?” it asked confusedly, “what is it?”

Was he talking to her?

“I-I’m a hobbit from the shire. Bil-Bilbo Baggins.” She wouldn’t give her real name. Not to this creature.

“Oh! We’ve had batsses, goblinsess and fishes, but we haven’t tried hobbitsess before!” The creature’s features lit up in a sinister smile of glee as it slowly advanced towards 

her, “Is it soft hm?” it whispered maliciously, “is it juicy?”

Lyla’s sword was at the creature’s throat again.

“Stay back!” She shouted, her voice cracking, “Don’t you understand? I don’t want any trouble. I just want to find a way out of here.” Her arms were shaking.

“Why?” the creature whispered, sitting on its haunches, “Is it lost?”

Yes.

“Yes. Yes. And I want to get unlost as soon as possible.”

The creature’s features shifted to an innocent look of delight.

“Oh we know safe paths for hobbitsess, safe paths in the dark!”

“Shut up!” the creature replied, it’s features hardening into a sour scowl

Lyla was confused. “I didn’t say anything.”

The creature sent her a glare, “We wasn’t talking to you!”

“But we was precious, we was.”

Was this-this thing talking to itself? She needed to get out of here. 

She started to back up slowly while it was distracted.

But tripped over yet another rock (blast it all) falling on her rear. Her sword clattered to the ground and her hands scrapped against the jagged floor.  
And something else. 

Something cold and round was hiding underneath Lyla’s small fingers. She hastily stuffed whatever it was into her pocket and retrieved her sword, as the creature’s gaze returned to her. 

“Wait!” it screeched advancing towards her. Lyla’s sword shot out again and it halted a few feet from the blade. “Hobbitsess cannot leave!” it howled loudly.

She’d had quite enough of this place.“Look I don’t know what your game is but I-“

“Game!” it suddenly crowed like an exuberant faunt. “We loves games! Does it? Does it? Does it like to play?”

Play? Play what?

“Uh-I-“ she was completely confused and terrified by this point, “Maybe?”

The creature’s face scrunched up in excitement. “What has roots as nobody sees. Is taller than trees, up, up, up it goes and yet…never grows?”

Oh. 

Riddles.

“The mountain.” Lyla replied cautiously, never lowering her sword.

The creature crowed in delight. “Go on, its our turn!”

And suddenly the scowl returned to its face. “NO!” it hissed, “No more riddles.” It scurried towards her bony hands raised in anger, “Finish it! Finish it now!”

Lyla steadied her stance, “No I-“ she had to stall. She had to do something! “I-I want to play. I do! And I can see that you are…very good at this.”

The creature stilled, its face transforming into one of childlike delight. It was working.

“So…why don’t we have a-a game of riddles. Just, just you and me.”

The creature edged closer, “Yes! Just-just us.”

Lyla nodded, “Yes. And if I win…you show me the way out of here yes?”

“And if it loses?” that sinister timbre had returned to the creature’s voice, “what then?”

“Why then we eats it!” the joyful voice crowed delightedly. The creature turned to Lyla, “If Baggins loses, we its it whole.”  
A startled gasp escaped her lips and she blinked in shock. 

Then with a resigned sigh, her shoulders drooped, but her gaze remained fixed on the creature, “Fair enough. But one riddle apiece and no more unless we tie. So we best make them difficult yes?” 

The creature nodded excitedly and hopped onto a large boulder near Lyla’s left. 

“Very well then,” she remarked, “Go ahead.” She waved her sword lightly, keeping a wide berth from the boulder and the creature.

“All things it devours,” the sinister voice was back,  
“birds, beasts, trees, flowers.  
Gnaws iron, bites steal.  
Grinds hard stones to meal.”

Oh.

Oh no. no, no, no. 

She didn’t know this one.

“Answer us,” the creature crowed jubilantly obviously sensing her hesitancy. 

“I-I” she sighed, rubbing her aching head.

Confound it all. Tears of frustration threatened to fall as her mind—overwhelmed as it was—struggled.

“Ah! It’s stuck!”

“I’m not,” she retorted, heatedly, “Just give me a moment please!”

She started pacing, wracking her brain for the answer. But she’d never heard this riddle before. She had to think of something!  
But no thoughts came to her exhausted mind.

The creature let out a small groan of delight, “Baggins loses. Time’s up.”

No. 

Lyla’s heart started hammering. She just needed another moment. Just a little more-

Time.

“Time! The answer is time!” She let out the air she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

The creature’s face contorted into a furious scowl as it eyed her suspiciously. “Very clever hobbitsess,” it hissed, “Very clever. But we won’t be so easy to defeat. Ask us a question then.”

Ah. There’s the tricky part. She knew plenty of riddles, but were they clever enough to befuddle this frightening creature?

The teeth riddle perhaps?

No. No she needed something. Something that would completely throw this creature off.

“Ask us!” The creature shouted again, its eyes narrowing impatiently at Lyla.

“Yes, yes alright,” she replied, trying to placate the creature, wracking her brain for something.

Her hand slipped into her pocket.

What on earth-?

“What have I got in my pocket?” she murmured more to herself, her fingers sliding over cool metal. 

A ring? Kili’s ring? A pang shot through her chest.

No that was in her other pocket. 

This one. This one was different. Heavy.

Her fingers rubbed over the smooth metal gently as it slid onto her third finger with ease.

The creature gave a strangled cry and tossed a rock at her feet. “Thief!” it howled lunging towards her. It’s thin, brittle fingers found their way around her neck, clawing at her, suffocating her, and Lyla bucked backwards in surprise, her air supply dwindling. She tried to twist away from the creature, to put her hands up to stop it…something! 

But her sword was still in her hands. 

Raising the hilt up above her head, even as spots danced in front of her eyes, she brought the hilt down on the creature’s head with a loud ‘crack’.  
The bony fingers released from her neck and the creature crumpled in a heap of pale splotchy skin at her feet. 

Gasping for air, Lyla backed up, her watering eyes glued on the creature who was already starting to stir. 

She didn’t hesitate further. Turning, she took off down a small alcove, hoping that he was going in the right direction. And that the hideous nightmare she’d been sparring with wouldn’t be able to find her. 

She went left and then right and then right again, unsure of where she was be desperate to get away. But not far behind her she could hear the scurrying of feet and the anguished howls of the creature.

“Baggins!” it shrieked, “Thief!”

She quickened her pace. 

And came face to face with a dead end. 

Her heart started hammering harder and she turned to evacuate the room post haste. 

But she stood face to face with the creature, its eyes wild and its movements jerking. Fingers dug into the ground, nails scraping against rock. Lyla winced, waiting and watching the creature. 

Who turned around with another howl of sorrow and darted down the passage way to her left. 

What-?

Why did he not attack? 

Lyla gazed down at her hand and noted the thick band of gold resting innocently against her slender finger.  
Could it be?

Was that what she had ‘stolen’?

And somehow it made her invisible?

She silently darted after the creature, sure that it would lead her to freedom.

And for once she was safe. 

For the moment.  
***  
As she followed the creature, silently stepping behind its shrieking, hulking form, anticipating freedom from the mountain, she never would have expected to see the dwarves and Gandalf (Gandalf!) darting past, frightening the creature who cowered behind the large stone that obscured the tunnel from view. 

She was trapped. She had to get away from the creature somehow. Her grip tightened on he sword and her gaze shifted between the weapon and her obstacle.  
Could she do it? Could she take a life?

Unbidden, Fili and Kili’s faces swam into her mind and a sudden anguished anger overtook her.

Why shouldn’t she take the miserable creature’s life? After all did it not deserve to die? All the pain and hardship she and the dwarves had experienced on this journey, all of the miserable louses that mucked up the way, did they not deserve some small respite? 

Yes. 

With a purposed stride, Lyla edged closer to the creature, who now was turned towards the entrance, its gaze following the dwarves’ retreating forms as they darted from the cave. This was her chance. To end its suffering and free herself. 

She raised the sword back with both arms, prepared to swing. 

When the creature turned around again gazed forlornly into the darkness, looking through Lyla’s invisible form. Those large blue eyes—dimmed by a haze the ring must have created—betrayed the anguish and utter despair the creature felt. Tears welled up in its eyes and a soft sniffle escape its thin, cracked lips.  
Her anger deflated and her heart suddenly flamed with a deep ache of sadness for the creature’s plight as much as her own, for Kili’s, for Fili’s, and even for Thorin’s. 

She couldn’t do it. 

She backed up again and sheathed her sword, a new idea sparking in her brain. 

The ‘clank’ that her sword made, alerted the creature that something was there with it. It’s face twisted from anguish to fury and it gazed around wildly, snarling.

But Lyla was already running.

And leaping.

Her left foot connected with the creature’s jaw accidently and she saw it go sprawling. 

But she didn’t stop. She bolted through the entrance of the cave and down the hill into the sunshine, running as far away from that miserable mountain as she could.  
Down she travelled searching for her companions, desperate for a familiar face, touch, voice. Anything. Anything to take her mind away from the pain, the guilt she felt.  
There! 

At the bottom of a small alcove of trees she spotted them, not even a hundred yards away. 

She darted forward, relief and exhausting taking over her senses. Ripping the ring from her finger she shoved the cool piece of metal into her pocket and called out to her companions.

“Wait! Wait!” She croaked. 

Twelve pairs of eyes turned, shocked, towards Lyla. 

“Bilbo!” Bofur exclaimed leaping towards her and enveloping the small hobbit into a tight and warm embrace. Lyla closed her eyes and inhaled the scents of pipeweed and earth laced within Bofur’s jacket. 

“We saw ye fall lad,” the miner exclaimed pulling away. His eyes shone with concern and joy, “How-how did ye manage-?”

“I-“ she swallowed, her throat suddenly thick with emotion.

“Where are my sister sons Halfling?” Thorin’s quiet, yet powerful baritone voice erupted around her.  
He strode forward, his eyes carefully complacent, his face the picture of composure. He carefully pulled Bofur away and stood infront of the hobbit.

Lyla averted her eyes, her stomach dropping, guilt welling, and the memories flying through her mind.

“I’ll ask you again, Halfling,” Thorin’s soft, deadly calm whisper reached her ears, “Where are my sister sons?”

She swallowed again, staring at the ground. Unable to meet Thorin’s eyes. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell him that.

With a roar of anger, Thorin grabbed at Lyla and picked her up by her shoulders, “Confound it all Halfling answer me!” He shouted, giving her a violent shake, “Where are they for Mahal’s sake!”

“They-th-they…” she stuttered staring into the panicked gaze of Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf who looked more vulnerable now than she had ever seen before. His hair was tousled and his eyes searched her face expectantly, panic and anguish marring his features. “I-we were separated,” tears were welling up in her eyes, “I’m sorry. I-they must have...” she trailed off. 

Thorin dropped her suddenly a strangled noise escaping his throat. He stumbled backwards away from her as though he’d been burned. 

“You!” his voice cracked with fury, “You don’t belong here. You should never have come! You’ve been nothing but a burden since the day we set out on this journey and your presence has brought nothing but trouble!” 

“I-I'm so sorry. I never-“

But a long low howl cut over Lyla’s weak voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just wouldn't write any other way...I tried. I restarted this chapter at least four different times. And THIS was the result...


	13. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True courage.
> 
> Warning: Depictions of violence in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys! Thank you for all the amazing reviews, the hits, the kudos...all of it! You are lovely lovely, overly kind people! Thank you for taking the time read this. I am constantly shocked that people are even interested in my writing, but you all make me so happy. So so happy! So thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's the first half of a massive write-up that I've done. Please let me know what you think!

“Run!” 

Gandalf’s shout reverberated inside Lyla’s head even as she gazed back at the mountain where the Durin brothers were still missing or-

“Come on then on yer feet Bilbo,” Bofur murmured, his gentle grip encircling Lyla’s arm. He all but hoisted her to her feet and started to drag her forward.  
Even as she was turned towards the mountains gazing forlornly at the packs of wargs and orcs converging together after the company, following the lead of a pale orc. 

Her feet moved of their own accord as she whipped her head forward and followed after the rest of the dwarves.

Though part of her was still in the mountains.

They leaped into the trees, at Gandalf’s behest (for they had run onto a ledge and had not other options), Bofur tossing Lyla upwards, into the Dwalin’s firm grasp, as he jumped onto the lowest branch after her. Dwalin gave her a little shake and she gazed questioningly at the dwarf who sent her a pitying look—his eyes conveying the heartbreak he himself felt—and a soft reassuring squeeze on her shoulders.

The wargs were quickly upon them, snapping branches and rocking the trees to and fro.

Lyla hated being in this situation again and strained to keep a sure footing on the tree this time around as the tree buckled beneath the weight of the angry wargs. They tilted forward and Dwalin tossed Lyla onto a waiting branch in the tree closest to them, the rest of the dwarves (Balin, Bombur, Bofur) in the toppling tree following after. 

But the wargs would not cease their tirade against the tree-bound company. With an even more ferocious determination, they leapt and attacked tree after tree, felling each one and forcing the dwarves and Lyla to jump closer and closer to the cliff’s edge until at last, they were all corralled onto the only remaining tree that sat perched at the edge of the cliff face. 

Then a low guttural growl had the wargs retreating as a horrifying orc rode forth, his pale skin glistening in the low sunlight. Astride a white warg that matched his own pale flesh, the orc—who had replaced one of his arms for a multi-pronged hook—set his pale blue eyes on the company in the trees. He let out a low laugh that contorted his scarred face into a twisted grimace.

“Azog?!” Thorin whispered his voice panicked, knuckles white as he gripped a branch. “No. It cannot be.”

The pale orc inhaled deeply and chuckled again, eyes sweeping over the company’s predicament.

“Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?” The orc’s gaze settled on Thorin and narrowed in a sinister delight “Ganzilig-I unarung obod nauzdanish, Torin undag Train-ob.”

Shivers trailed down Lyla’s spine. She knew something terrible was about to happen. 

The orc pointed its large, jagged mace towards Thorin, “Kod, Toragid biriz.” And then raising his mace into the air he growled, “Worori-da!”  
In a fevered frenzy, the wargs resumed their attacks on the lone standing tree.

“Sho gad adol!” 

The wargs converged upon the company once more, ramming into the trunk of the tree, scraping the wood bare and jarring Lyla and the dwarves, trying to get them to fall. Lyla’s stomach knotted as cold dread coursed through her veins. 

But then she let out a surprised squeak as flaming pinecones suddenly descended on the monstrous beasts at their feet. 

Gandalf! 

Lyla’s head jerked upwards, away from the scene beneath her feet, towards Gandalf who tossed the flaming spheres to the waiting hands of the company members.

“Throw them! Drive the beasts back!” He bellowed, lobbing a pinecone towards Lyla, who scrambled to grab ahold of the warm object. He threw another downward and it plummeted to the base of the tree, igniting the brambles and bushes beneath. 

Lyla didn’t need to be told twice. With soft breaths of encouragement, her own pinecone burst into flame and taking careful aim, she hurled it at the feet of a rather nasty black warg near the base of the tree, who howled and stumbled backwards. She felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the horrified noise it made.

Smoke billowed and the wargs hissed and whimpered retreating from their destructive mission as the flames licked at their paws. A cacophony of cheers rose up as the pale orc growled in annoyance, his eyes narrowing to glare up at Gandalf.

However, the combined weight of the wargs’ snapping, and pawing and the dwarves’ presence in the branches, brought the proud pine tumbling downward over the edge of the cliff.

But the company was spared a complete tumble downward as the stubborn roots clung to the thin soil spread on the rocky terrain. Lyla desperately twisted her fingers around her branch in a desperate hold, her feet seeking desperately for a foothold.

Oh please. They couldn’t fall again.

Not again. 

Azog—as Thorin had called him—chuckled deeply taking in the scene of the scrambling dwarves. Dori was suspended above the mountainside, desperately clinging to Gandalf’s staff as Ori grasped onto his brother’s legs, a panicked grunt escaping his lips. And the others weren’t faring much better

They were trapped and he knew it. 

Then suddenly, Azog straightened his hunched form as he sat atop on his white warg and a sickening smile spread on his face. His eyes narrowed. Lyla turned to see Thorin rising to his feet, a determined yet detached look on his face, fury ignited in his eyes. He raised his sword and the oaken branch strapped to his wrist and started marching forward, down the tree and into the flames.

Towards Azog.

He cast a glance towards Lyla and her heart stopped. 

He gaze flickered for a moment changing from fury to utter anguish and back again and Lyla knew then what he was planning. 

Fight. Or die trying. 

‘no.’ he heart whispered. He was giving up on his quest? Why? Why would he do that? He couldn’t take on the wargs and orcs! It was suicide. He was forfeiting his life.

A rock settled in her belly as she realized one of the reasons (and her role in that reason), and she scrambled to pull herself to her feet. She couldn’t let him!

Thorin raised his sword and growled as he charged forward to where Azog waited for him. He raised his oaken branch to protect his face and with a mighty shout, leapt towards the white warg. 

Azog gave a loud, unintelligible yell and charged forward, the massive paws of the warg colliding with Thorin’s upper body. 

With a groan the dwarf king fell.

Lyla was frozen in shock. 

“Thorin!” Dwalin let out a guttural bellow as he tried to rise upward. “No!”

The branch the warrior dwarf was holding onto snapped, sending him scrambling, unable to rise to his feet to assist his fallen companion and friend. 

Thorin was slowly getting to his feet, his grip still firm on his sword, even as blood poured from a large gash across his nose. 

The warg charged again and rammed into Thorin's back, sending him sprawling, the grip loosening on his sword, the long dark tendrils of his hair falling into his eyes, obscuring his view. 

Azog took not hesitation and hissed a command. The white warg dug its teeth into the dwarf’s shoulder.

Thorin let out a loud cry of pain as the warg swung Thorin around and released him into the air. 

He landed with a sickening thud in front of the tree, his sword clattering to the ground just out of reach. 

And he didn’t rise.

An icy grip settled around her throat as smoke stung her eyes. He-he couldn’t. 

NO.

She unsheathed her sword and tried to steady her heart even as Azog turned towards the slimy orc with the misshapen mouth to his left.

“Biriz torag khobdudol.” 

Azog’s minion hopped down from his own warg and unsheathed his angular sword, slowly advancing towards the dwarf who could no longer raise his head. A sickening smile spread across Azog’s face as Thorin weakly tried to reach for his own sword, his breathing labored and eyes wild. 

Lyla’s feet were moving before she could register her thoughts and with a fierce cry she launched herself at the orc who had it’s sword raised to strike Thorin. 

Caught off guard, Lyla and the orc tumbled to the ground, Thorin forgotten. Pinned beneath the slimy grasp, Lyla struggled to move her arm as the orc raised its weapon to strike.  
Twisting her body, she got her sword arm free and sliced at the orc’s arm. The orc hissed and Lyla too the opportunity to ram her shoulder into the foul creature, propelling herself upward and reversing their positions. 

She didn’t hesitate to grasp the hilt of her small blade with both hands and bury her sword in the creature’s chest, slicing through flesh like butter. 

The orc let out a howl of agony and clawed at Lyla’s arms

She stabbed again.

And again.

Dark, foul smelling blood coated her sword, splashing onto her jacket, as the creature finally stilled with a gurgling gasp and Lyla scrambled off the orc and stumbled to stand before Thorin’s prone and unmoving form.

She turned to face Azog, her sword raised at the ready (just how Dwalin had shown her). Her eyes narrowed at the orc and she tried desperately to quell the panic bubbling in her chest. But raw determination was winning out and she would not be swayed. 

She could not be swayed. 

She would not risk losing another person. One who deserved to return to his homeland. One who had seen too much suffering. 

NO. 

She would NOT allow that to happen.

She’d die first.

Her life meant nothing as significant as Thorin’s. He had a purpose, a duty to his people. And she’d caused so much suffering for him. She couldn’t just stand by, an ordinary little hobbit, while someone so obviously destined for greatness, suffered. And what was she? Nothing so mighty as a king.

Azog seemed to feel the same sentiment towards Lyla's life as he descended from his warg and slowly advanced towards her, his eyes narrowed into fierce slits, a furious scowl marring his distorted features. Raising his mace high, he spat something in his guttural tongue and stepped towards her as his warg went alongside his left.  
Lyla backed up, closer to Thorin, wary of the warg’s movements as much as Azog’s. 

“I’ll not let you touch him,” she hissed.

Azog laughed in a condescending tone and uttered something lost to Lyla’s ears. 

But the wargs and orcs in his command understood and with a chorus of howls and snarling 'whoops' they started through the flames and towards the tree.

And the dwarves who were trying to pull themselves to their feet.

“No!” She gasped, her attention diverted.

Which is what Azog was hoping for. 

She was distracted long enough for the white warg to pounce with a mighty howl, bowling her over and to her back with a sound ‘smack’ on the ground. Its paws rested on her chest, constricting her lungs, making it hard to catch her breath. 

But that didn’t stop her from raising her sword—the sword that she was determined to keep a hold of—and blindly striking at the warg’s legs and chest. 

Her clumsily placed hits, thankfully, forced the warg to lift a paw off of her in pain, freeing Lyla’s arm long enough to bury her glowing blue blade into the white beast’s throat. Blood splattered across her face and arms, running into her hair, as the creature choked and stumbled backwards, falling to a heap.

Lyla rolled and leapt to her feet, placing herself more firmly between the orc and Thorin. Facing Azog, whose face blackened, she raised her sword again, blood pounding in her ears, her vision tunneling to focus on the looming figure in front of her who was flexing his fingers on his mace and stalking towards her, with a purposed predatory gait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azog's language translated: 
> 
> "Do you smell it? The scent of fear? Your grandfather reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain."  
> "That one is mine!"  
> "Kill them!"  
> "Drink their blood."  
> "Bring me the Dwarf's head."
> 
> So what do you think? Sound off with thoughts and opinions!
> 
> And be sure to go read LuckyHai5's AMAZING story 'Good Morning' I promise that you won't be disappointed. It's fabulous.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	14. Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing down the pale orc
> 
> Warning: Depictions of violence in this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness guys! Thank you for the amazing response! So many hits and kudos and such amazing reviews! I'm so ecstatic! Thank you, you lovely people you!  
> I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. It was quite the emotional ride. I hope that you'll enjoy this next chapter as well. This is actually a revamped chapter. I had posted one earlier, but actually needed to do some major editing, so I've posted it again. But I hope it's still engaging enough for you. Annoying colds certainly give me ample time to write lately...  
> Please feel free to let me know what you think! 
> 
> And I'll confess that the inspiration for this chapter came from these songs so if you want to take a listen to get a feel for the emotions I was trying to convey, be my guest! 
> 
> http://youtu.be/zkXbzffVl44
> 
> http://youtu.be/24fGmWG6kpg
> 
>  
> 
> And just another quick little note and then I'll shut up: if you haven't read LuckyHai5's story 'Good Morning' you really should. It's a great AU that will have you on the edge of your seat. I highly suggest you go take a gander!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347

Lyla could feel the warg’s cold, sticky blood dripping down her face as she watched Azog slowly creep towards her, a furious glint sparked in his beady blue eyes. His fingers were taut around the handle of his mace and his mouth was pulled into a deep frown, making the scars along his cheekbones stand out. He spat something, in his black speech, low and menacing as he slowly edged ever closer.

And she wasn’t stupid. Lyla knew the odds were stacked against her. She was small, with no armor and only one measly weapons practice under her belt.  
And here she was facing down a giant, monstrous creature, bloodthirsty and enraged. 

Heart pounding erratically, she hazarded a quick glance back at Thorin’s still form, desperate to assure herself that he was still breathing before tightening the grip on her sword and her resolve.

If she was going to die, she mused, she may as well die trying to protect someone deserving. 

That didn’t seem such a terrible thing.

Azog stopped a few feet from Lyla, narrowed his eyes and smirked, baring his serrated teeth.

Lyla narrowed her own eyes in response and readied herself for what she knew was coming. 

And Azog did not disappoint. 

With a loud roar, he charged with surprising speed, his mace raised high and his clawed arm thrust forward, as though to impale her.

Lyla raised her sword upward to meet his mace, while trying to dodge his long sharp clawed arm. She felt the metal nick the fabric of her cloak, but missing all contact with her body. 

Her arms buckled at the contact of Azog’s powerful swing. Her fingers started slipping as she tried desperately to hold her grip on her sword and stop the mace from connecting with her skull. 

With a growl of annoyance, the giant orc raised his clawed arm and swung, connecting with Lyla’s face, ramming into her chin. Her grip slipped, her sword clattering, as the force of the blow sent her sprawling.

Azog chuckled as Lyla tried to scramble to her feet.

Only to meet the orc’s boot in the stomach, knocking the wind from her and sending her downward again. 

The orc kicked her again, forcing Lyla to roll onto her back, the orc's thick leather boot pressed firmly on her chest.

And then he was on top of her, the cold metal of his clawed appendage crushing her windpipe, cutting off all air from her lungs. 

He didn’t want to kill her quickly, she realized. He wanted to draw this out. 

To torture her.  
She dug her fingers into the orc’s flesh, trying to push the monstrous beast off of her. She kicked her legs furiously, trying to wiggle from his firm grip. But the sheer weight of the monster, was more than her slender form could manage. 

Azog only laughed at her attempts and pressed the metal harder into her throat, spitting vicious words at her, his saliva dripping over her cheeks and into her eyes.  
Her hands started searching to her sides, trying find something, anything, she could use to defend herself. Her sword was nowhere within reach.

But then she had a brilliant idea.

An incredibly stupid, brilliant, Tookish idea.

And she was no simpering Bracegirdle or a snooty Sackville Baggins.

She was a Took. And a Baggins.

Probably mostly Took if her current predicament was any indication.

And dammit if she wasn't going to use her wits to her advantage.

Bringing her right knee upward in a jerking motion, she connected a hit to the pale orc's groin. The surprised creature let out a small annoyed grunt, his grip loosening marginally.

Lyla hit him again and this time, brought her tough feet into the orc's belly and kicked upward, propelling the orc over her head and on his back. She rolled and heaved herself to her feet, certain that nothing she was doing was considered proper fighting technique...

But then again she was never proper to begin with was she?

Azog snarled, his mouth stretched into a wide gaping scowl as he charged her his mace at the ready, and his clawed arm outstretched.

But being small had its advantages. Lyla took the opportunity to slide underneath the orc's legs and then with a quick jump to her feet, she leapt onto the orc's back, her arms encircling the flustered orc's thick, cold neck.

A furious roar escaped Azog's lips as he tried to claw at her, but her position behind his back ensured he was unable to inflict any pain on her without doing so to himself.

Her gaze shifted and she noted the battled raging between the dwarves (who thankfully had found their footing) and wargs, acknowledging that the company was actually quite capable of taking care of themselves (barring Dori and Ori who were clinging to Gandalf's staff).

Yes. Yes it was all quite brilliant.

Then, to his credit Lyla acknowledged, Azog managed to connect a blow. His massive, bald head rammed into Lyla's much smaller one, smashing into her nose and causing stars to dance before her eyes.

She dropped from her perch with a low hiss mixed with a tired groan, as blood poured from her nose, down her lips, splattering into the dirt. 

'blast it all.' 

And then Azog was back on top of her, the metal of his claw pressed constictingly against her throat once more, this time a murderous hatred burned deep in orc's eyes as he stared down at her, snarling and hissing. He had pinned her legs as well so she well and truly couldn't move.

Well, a fighter she may not be, but she sure knew how to piss off an orc. 

Time seemed to slow down as she struggled. He arms became heavy, sluggish. And her mind started to shut down. But she thought she heard her name being called. 

‘I’m sorry Thorin. So sorry.’ The thought played over and over, as she lost sensation in her finger, her vision clouding. Her eyes flicked to the dwarf, his hair splayed around his head like a dark ebony halo and she couldn't help but note how utterly beautiful he looked. 

"so sorry. I'm sorry." she tried to whisper to him, even as she choked for air.

The world was starting to go black and Lyla knew she was dying. 

Then something happened, she did not expect. 

Nor, too, did Azog.

An arrow whizzed through the air and tore through the flesh of Azog’s good arm, launching the orc backwards, his grip released form Lyla’s throat.  
She let out a strangled gasp, her chest heaving, trying to clear her vision. 

Another arrow connected in Azog’s leg and the orc let out a furious howl of pain searching for his attacker. 

Rolling to the side, Lyla tried to pinpoint just where the shots were coming from. Not the tree where the rest of the company was. No.

Then she heard it. A fierce battle cry as two figures charged from the shadows. 

Lyla was certain that her heart stopped for a moment as she watched Fili and Kili propel themselves at Azog, swords drawn and snarls of anger tearing through their throats. 

Fili.

Kili. 

Alive. 

They were alive! 

Kili was sporting an enormous bruise across his cheek and eye while the firelight enhanced the deep gash on Fili’s brow.

But they were walking (well running) and fighting. 

Which was far more than she could have ever hoped for. 

Lyla desperately struggled to her feet, searching for her sword, determined to drive Azog and his minions away from Thorin; away from the company. 

“Biriz torag khobdudol” Azog roared even as Fili and Kili’s combined efforts drove the pale, gruesome orc away from his prize, hacking and slicing from both directions, forcing Azog into defense mode. 

Another battle cry resounded as the others seemed to break through the wall of wargs and fire, pushing the beasts back, distracting them from their leader's commands. Dwalin and Dori were teamed up, Dwalin smashing warg skulls with his war hammer as Dori sliced through the orc riders, launching the foul creatures from their perches atop their wargs. Balin, Ori and Bifur had launched an attack against three other wargs, slicing at legs, Ori shooting at eyes and knocking the giant wolf-beasts senseless. 

A grim smile broke across Lyla's face. 

Her dwarves were a hardy bunch.

Despite the distraction, however, Azog’s words triggered a response from a lone warg and rider, unimpeded by the dwarves' resilient attacks. With a high-pitched shriek, it came barreling towards Lyla and Thorin. 

She readied her sword and swung as the warg leapt overhead, nicking a paw and sending the creature stumbling, bucking its rider off.

But the hind legs of the beast, knocked Lyla in the shoulder, sending her off balance as well. She toppled backwards and landed atop the unconscious Dwarf king, the air whooshing from her lungs again, leaving the small hobbit dazed.

The orc, a grey, snakelike creature with mottled flesh and scraggly hair gave a loud shriek, raising a crude knife, and charged Lyla, who braced for the onslaught--even as she lay upon the ground--sword at the ready. She wouldn't let anyone touch Thorin. Rising, she quickly squeezed the dwarf's fingers gently. 

The orc towered over her, trying to drive her wearied body to the ground, and away from Thorin. Lyla grit her teeth in resolve and held as firm as she could, though her arms were shaking.

That’s when chaos erupted around her. Merciful chaos. 

To her utter surprise and horror, two massive claws attached to the largest bird that had ever seen, descended from the shadowy skies and plucked the orc off the ground and over the cliff. Another bird, attacked the warg as well, and with a yelp it too tumbled off into the dark. 

Giant eagles circled the battle, plucking off wargs and orcs, tossing their distorted bodies off the cliff. 

And then they started reaching for the company. She spotted Dori, Ori on the backs of one of the eagles, with Bombur clasped in the claws of another, Bifur riding the great bird's back. Oin and Dwalin were quickly plucked up, followed by Balin, Gloin, Bofur and Nori. 

They were all safe. Every one of them. 

A large pair of talons encircled her own shoulders before she could even cry out a protest, and suddenly she was airborne. 

And then she was being dropped. Lyla let out a mighty shriek as air ripped past her, colors and shapes blending into one blurry mess. 

With a small thud, she landed on the back of another eagle, whose path gave her a view of the battle along the mountain. 

She saw a deep golden colored bird stretch out its thick claws, and snatch up Thorin’s unmoving form wrapping it's taloned feet securely around the unmoving dwarf's body cocooning Thorin from the scene going on around him. Two other eagles, with matchign echoing screeches, plucked Fili and Kili out of Azog’s immediate grasp.  
The pale orc’s roar echoed into the sky, as Lyla let her head fall against the soft warmth of the eagle’s neck.  
*******  
The eagles flew them high above the mountains, until the sun peaked over the horizon, their massive wings slicing through the biting wind with ease. Lyla's grip remained tight against the soft feathers of the bird's neck and she hoped she wasn't causing the massive golden bird any pain. But she didn't dare let go. She'd done enough fall lately and wasn't eager to do any more. Ever so gently they deposited their respective cargo atop a rather impressive rock formation that looked Eastward, down into a deep valley and surrounding forest. 

Lyla watched as Thorin’s body was gently placed down, his sword landing beside him with a soft clatter. 

And suddenly Gandalf was there, the rest of the company following shortly behind him. The grey wizard jumped from the eagle, with a murmur of thanks and rushed to the fallen dwarf’s side.

“Thorin,” he whispered assessing the damage "Thorin?"

‘Please let him be okay.’ Lyla chanted in her head, ‘Please please.’ 

Gandalf rested his hand over Thorin’s bruised and swollen eyes and started chanting, the words too low for Lyla to decipher, but a warm charge filled the air as she gazed on. 

Then there was a gasp for air as Thorin’s eyes slowly slid open. He let out a pained hiss and groaned as he stretched his fingers and moved his battered arms.

Lyla released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Thorin was in pain, but he was alive.

Thorin gazed around confusedly, more than likely trying to figure out how they came to rest atop massive rock face. His eyes swept Gandalf's face as he murmured: 

“The company?” his cracking voice betraying his exhaustion.

“It’s alright,” Gandalf soothed, “They’re all accounted for and quite safe mind you.”

Slowly, Gandalf helped the dwarf king into a sitting position as Fili and Kili pushed their way towards their uncle, dropping to their knees. Thorin let out a strangled cry, his nephews murmuring consolingly as his shaking hand reached up to touch Fili’s braided mustache. He tugged the blonde dwarf forward and gently rested his forehead against Fili’s, a contented sigh escaping his lips as Kili, too, leaned forward to rest his bruised forehead again's his uncle's.

“Thank Aule” Lyla whispered, her heart threatened to burst with emotion.

Then suddenly (almost blessedly so), her legs couldn’t support her anymore, the adrenaline she felt during battle wearing off, leaving her limbs feeling wobbly, the world tilting. She slowly slumped to the ground, even as arms came under her shoulders to keep her steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I must confess that this chapter was a bit difficult to write. I'm not quite sure why. It just pieced together funny. So I apologize if it seemed unorganized or disjointed in any way.  
> And please feel free to let me know what you think! Is it what you expected? Were you surprised? Excited? Disappointed?  
> Let me know! And have an amazing day!


	15. Beneath A Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin muses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well you guys certainly know how to make a writer smile! Thank you for all the wonderful feedback and the kudos and follows and the hits! I'm a happy little duckling right now :)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a tad short. Sorry, 'bout that. It's more of an interlude that I really felt was a necessary thing to put in here so if you are expecting action right now, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint. On the plus, we're switching things up just a little bit. 
> 
> And I should hopefully have the next chapter up soon :)
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think!

“Master Baggins!” 

Someone was helping her to the ground, though she wasn’t sure who. Her vision was swimming and her thoughts felt…

Muzzy.

Disjointed.

“What’s happened?”

“Why is he covered in blood?”

Thorin?

Lyla was confused. Why was he asking so many questions? 

Dwalin’s face filtered into focus in front of her. He gently grasped her chin and tilted her head back, his brown eyes sweeping over her. His thumb rubbed her cheek tenderly, barely ghosting her flesh. 

Then he sighed and scowled deeply and shook his head. 

She tried to rise.

“Alright there lad, easy does it,” Bofur whispered a wrapping his arms around her arms to keep her in place, “I’ve got ye. Just relax.” 

“Th-thorin?” She questioned as her muscles spasmed and she shivered. Her tongue felt swollen and her throat thick and clogged, “Fili? Kili?”  
She had to make sure they were alright. She had to-

“Aye, laddie,” Dwalin reassured her gently, patting her shoulders, “Safe and sound. Don’t worry yer little head about it. Just rest.”

Rest?

My, that did sound lovely. But only for a moment though. She didn't want to cause delay.

Leaning back, her head found purchase against rough fabric that smelled like like smoke and earth. She closed her eyes and drifted.  
******  
“s’goin’ on?” She slurred coming to semi-consciousness. She could feel herself moving, in the arms of…someone…wrapped up like a fauntling.  
She tried to wiggle her arms and legs free, but was held firm by a strong grip. Azog’s face flashed in her mind as he pressed against her throat, pinning her, suffocating her. She started panicking, arching her back and twisting.

“Easy lass, easy,” Dwalin was hushing her, his breath tickling her ear, “I’ve got ya. Just hush. Relax. Everything’s fine.” He tightened his grip again.

Everything was fine?

Oh.

“S-sorry,” 

Dwalin chuckled lightly, “Aye, don’t fret. Just get some more rest. We’ll be down on solid ground soon enough.”

“M’kay,” She inhaled deeply and the scents of cinnamon and pine filled her nostrils, soothing her quaking muscles and sputtering hear and lulling her back towards oblivion. 

“Aye lass. Just rest. Ye deserve it.”

She wasn’t awake to hear the compliment.  
******  
How could it have come to this?

Thorin Oakenshield prided himself on his sound judgment of character. He could tell the nature of a person by the way they carried themselves, their speech, their demeanor. In fact, his talent for reading people was so precise, he was hardly ever wrong.

How, then, could he have been so utterly wrong and misjudged the hobbit so abominably? 

How could he have been so stupid?

When he’d first seen the blood smattered across the hobbit's face, Thorin had been angry with the halfing, supposing the creature to have gotten underfoot and in harm’s way out of sheer ineptitude for battle. Indeed the creature had been in the wrong place on the mountain and if it weren’t for the hobbit’s clumsy footing, his nephews never would have fallen…

The thought of their terrified faces as they tumbled sent a shiver down his spine even as anger had welled up in his heart. 

But then the flash of a memory jolted him and his anger dissipated. He remembered with startling, vivid clarity, the orc, that had loomed over him, prepared to sever his head as a trophy for Azog’s pride. And he certainly remembered that the orc had been stopped by an impossibly small creature with a tiny blue sword. 

The hobbit had launched himself at the enemy, ill equipped and alone and defended a dwarf who had done nothing but insult and reprimand him. 

He swallowed the emotions back down, averting his eyes from Bofur and Dwalin who were gingerly wrappiing the hobbit in a cloak. 

His eye zeroed in on a lonely peak, snow covered and forlorn. 

Erebor. 

It was a strange feeling, seeing his homeland again. A sort of giddy excitement filled his veins.

Then he hazarded a glance back at the halfing and his spirit drooped, a pang of remorse filling him.

His family was safe, his own life spared, and his quest could continue. 

All because of one stubborn and stupid, yet impossibly brave little hobbit. 

And the company was quick to regale the story of Bilbo’s heroics (or the snatches they caught amidst the chaos) as they followed Gandalf down the winding steps of the rock face.  
The deeds the hobbit had performed after Thorin had lost consciousness had his head spinning. 

According to Dwalin, that small creature had faced down wargs, orcs and Azog himself, nearly losing his own life in the process. But the hobbit would not leave his side.  
“Aye he was pinned beneath the white warg, but the little sprite managed to slice at its paws, and cut the beast’s throat clean through.”

“Oh and it was simply amazing uncle!” Kili chortled as he and Fili helped Thorin down the steep steps, “Master Boggins launched Azog into the air! Brilliant! I never would have thought of that.” 

Had he indeed? Thorin stared at the pale lipped creature a sense of confused wonder filling him. How on this good earth had someone so small bested a giant orc like Azog?

“Aye I’ve never seen such a fierce spirit. Wouldn’t leave yer side for anything. Nearly paid the price for it too,’ Dwalin mused as he laid the bundled hobbit against a rock, his brows knit in consternation, his face dark with a fury Thorin had only seen once before…

The day Dis had died. 

Dis, the woman Dwalin thought of as a sister and protected with a ferocity unparalleled; whose death nearly destroyed him, reducing the proud warrior to howls of anguish.  
The thought that the hobbit meant THAT much to Dwalin did nothing to ease his conscience.

Dwalin threw a look his way, his eyes hooded and unreadable as Thorin lowered to the ground, suppressing a groan. He knew Dwalin’s thoughts, though his friend was too respectful of Thorin’s position as king to admit them. He respected him too much, even when Thorin said or did stupid things. 

He knew now that his actions running towards Azog had been rash and foolhardy and it appeared that the one to pay the price for it had been a creature who had no ties to the king at all. The hobbit had fought, clawed and outsmarted the pale orc all for the one dwarf in the company that had spurned his presence from the very beginning.  
And as the other dwarves stumbled to the river to wash and drink, he rested beneath a tree near the at the base of the carrock (his body too tired to do much of anything else), and watched Oin and Ori wipe the blood from the halfling’s face, with the cool water nature had provided them. As the dried flaking blood disappeared, Thorin got a full view of the damage his foolishness caused.

Or the visible damage at least. 

The hobbit’s nose was turning a deep purple and another rather ghastly bruise ran along one pale cheek. His arms were coated in angry red scratches.  
But it was the hobbit’s throat that made Thorin’s heart constrict. Encircling the slender neck were deep welts and bruises. 

Azog had tried to choke the halfling. 

A stone settled in Thorin’s belly at the knowledge. 

With a grunt of approval Oin stepped back and gave a firm nod. 

“Not perfect mind you, but better than he was. I won’t know the extent of that damage he sustained until he awakens,” He gave Thorin a look his eyes narrowing, “You’d do wise to follow his lead and get some rest while we can.”

“Please,” Thorin murmured, “Let him rest near me. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Oin gave Thorin a questioning look but nodded and gently tucked the unconscious creature near Thorin’s side, under the cool tree shade before he and Ori retreated to the bubbling stream to refresh themselves with strict orders for Thorin to shout if he needed anything. 

Thorin stared down at the sleeping form nestled next to him. Very carefully, he adjusted his arm to allow his sleeping charge to rest his head on Thorin's shoulder. And for a long time he gazed at the mop of blonde curls still flecked with copper from blood, each bruise and scrape that marred the hobbit’s pale face, committing them to memory. And then he sighed. 

What a fine mess he’d created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo...I'll admit right now that I sort of geeked out just a little bit and researched what symptoms were associated with shock...yeah...so that's why Lyla is the way she is in this chapter...anyway...
> 
> Oh and if you guys haven't read LuckyHai5's story 'Good Morning' I highly recommend you do! It'll be well worth your time.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	16. No Ordinary Hobbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonds are solidified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! Thank you for all the positive feedback! It's so great to know that people like what I write. Thank you for the kudos, hits, bookmarks, reviews...all of it. I'm humbled!
> 
> This chapter was a strange one to write and it ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated! But I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to comment and let me know your opinions, questions, suggestions...anything really. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Lyla felt content even as she felt confused. Her mind was muddled, trapped somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She was aware that someone was near her, but her body was too tired to respond. 

“Will he be alright?” Thorin’s voice floated around her.

“Aye. Far as we can tell it’s just a nasty shock,” Balin’s voice carried in reply, “We’ll let him rest for a few more hours then try and get some fluids in him. Gandalf mentioned a friend nearby who could give us shelter and supplies.”

“Very well…”

Lyla slipped back into darkness.

***  
“Here Master Baggins,” Someone placed a cool cloth to her lips, gently nudging her mouth to open.

Cool, blessedly, cool water trickled down her throat, and awakening a deep thirst.

She drank greedily.  
***  
The next time she awoke, the sky was dark but a small fire glowed nearby. Several of the company members were sitting around the orange flames, their quiet murmurs rising to the sky. 

But a good majority of the company were scattered near her, deep asleep.

Bofur lay at her feet, hat propped over his eyes, arms tucked behind his head. Ori and Dori lay next to him, Dori’s massive legs jerking every now and then as his hand searched to   
find comfort by grasping Ori’s sweater. It appeared that even in sleep, Dori was protecting his young brother. Dwalin, sat propped against a small boulder, his arms crossed over his chest, a deep frown pulling at his mouth, head bent forward ever so slightly.

Most surprisingly, though, was the fact that she was cocooned between two young dwarf princes. 

Fili and Kili flanked either side of her radiating warmth, their arms twisted around her own, heads tilted on her shoulders and a couple of cloaks covering their legs. Soft snores whistled through their lips.

Lyla studied each of the brothers quietly. Kili’s dark, bedraggled locks were flopped over his eyes, hiding the bruise she knew to be there. His mouth was quirked upwards in a gentle smile even as he slept, and he appeared carefree and content, which brought a smile to Lyla’s own lips. Fili’s long blonde braids were coming undone, and the gash on his forehead was hidden beneath his furrowed brows. The older of the two, Fili appeared far more thoughtful in his demeanor. 

It made Lyla’s heart swell with emotion to be near two people who had risked their lives to protect hers; who had nearly died…

But they were here and they were whole (mostly) and as she watched their breathing, she was filled with a deep gratitude for their presence near her. Her gaze flicked back towards the fire where Thorin and Balin sat conversing. 

Thorin’s eyes were trained on Lyla, studying her carefully, his dark brows knit in confusion, his sapphire eyes narrowed.

Lyla swallowed and looked away, eyes searching for a distraction away from the dwarf king with his tussled hair, his scraped and bruised face.

“I’ve come to find,” Gandalf’s voice made her jump, “That hobbits are most remarkable creatures.”

Lyla inclined her head towards the tall grey wizard who had been sitting in the shadows this whole time, smoking a pipe, his hat resting on his knee. Gandalf’s eyes were twinkling and a large smile broke out on his face. 

“You seemed to have acquired an affinity for doing foolish things,” he continued, the soft smells from his pipe filling Lyla’s nostrils. “Running off with a band of dwarves to defeat a dragon, facing a pack of bloodthirsty orcs…you are quite a bit more Tookish than I originally supposed.”

“I-er-thank you I s’pose?” She gave the wizard a suspicious look. 

Gandalf chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening in mirth. “My dear fellow, I believe that your Tookish-ness is just what this company needs.” 

Lyla leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree and smiled.  
****  
“Mister Boggins? Are you awake?” 

Kili’s voice was tickling her ear.

She let out a low grumble and tried to swat at his voice and received a chuckle in reply. 

“Very smart Kili,” It was Fili this time admonishing his brother.

Lyla’s eyes cracked open a sliver but then widened in surprise. 

Kili’s was perched right in front of her, his face mere inches from her own, his large brown assessing her face. 

“Eh, hello there Kili,” she mumbled, “Can-er-uh help you?”

Kili grinned and sat back on his haunches. “Just checkin’ up on ye. Thorin said we’d be heading out this morning and we wanted to make sure you were fit to walk.”

“Ah, uh yes yes of course,” she remarked confused, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The brothers gave her an incredulous look and Kili started spluttering.

“You can’t be serious Mister Boggins!” Kili’s eyes had gone wide.

“Indeed!” Fili agreed with a fervent smile, “While your actions were most certainly brave, bravery does not prevent injury.” He gave Lyla a firm look.

“Yes well,” Lyla scratched the back of her head awkwardly, uncomfortable with being singled out. “I-uh-I just did what any one of you would do had you the opportunity really. Hardly brave when it comes down to it.”

Kili pushed his wayward locks out of his face and scoffed, “Well whatever you call your actions, they could not prevent injury,” He was echoing his brother, “We saw how Azog handled you. You must be hurting.”

Lyla shrugged noncommittally, “I’ll be alright. I’m fine.” 

And despite the matching pair of skeptical looks, she would be. The aches were only minor. She could deal with it. 

But it was her thoughts that scared her more than any physical pain could.Every time she closed her eyes, flashes of fire and leering gruesome creatures loomed above her. 

She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts immediately. Best not the dwell on such subjects. 

“I’m fine.” She repeated, giving the boys a small smile. 

Kili pursed his lips in obvious displeasure, but Fili gave a Lyla a warm smile.

“Alright then, we’ll take your word for it,” He winked, “But don’t think that we’ll not be keeping an eye on you.”

“That’s certainly true!” Kili agree cheerfully, patting her shoulder.

Lyla noted the deep scrapes arcoss his knuckles and the way his finger was red and scratched.

Oh!

“That reminds me,” she remarked, fishing into her pocket, “I’ve almost forgotten. Here.”

She grabbed Kili’s hand and placed his small ring into the dwarf’s hand. 

Kili gazed at the small object with the glittering blue stone with a mixture of wonder and reverence. His fingers gently closed around the ring. 

“Where…did you find this?” He whispered his eyes hidden, a deep sorrow lacing his voice. 

“I found it in my palm when I-after I-“she swallowed and trailed off looking sheepish, “I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“No don’t apologize…My mother,” Kili cut her off, “Gave this to me when I was younger…before she…” He cleared his throat and looked up at Lyla, eyes sparkling with a gentle fondness and a faraway look. “She always said that Mahal, our creator, made gifts like this for his children to show his devotion and love for them. Look here,” He opened his palm and pointed to a tiny symbol carved into the band, “This, this stands for Mahal. It means protector,” He laughed gently, “She always said that this ring would serve as a reminder of her devotion and love for her own children and that as long as I wore it, I would bear the protection of Mahal with me wherever I wandered.”

Kili pressed the ring carefully back into Lyla’s hands and closed her hand around the trinket.

“You remind me of her sometimes, you know…my mother. And I would be honored if you would keep this as a reminder of the importance you hold within our company and…our family. You are a protector of Durin. And a friend of the dwarves.”

“I-oh, no I don’t think it’s quite so grand as that!” She fumbled for words, “I just…I mean I couldn’t even protect you when we fell…”

Kili’s fingers squeezed her hands gently, “Our fall was an accident no one could have foreseen. You are not responsible. But, you DID protect our family when Fili and I could not. You protected this company. You saved this quest. We are indebted to you.” 

“But I-“

Fili’s fingers touched her lips as he crouched next to his brother, his blonde hair and bearded face a stark contrast to Kili’s appearance. Fili smiled, “We are a proud race Master Hobbit and we take acts of bravery very seriously. This is only a small token of our eternal gratitude.” He ruffled Lyla’s hair, “Please accept it. It will stand as a mark that you are beloved friend of the dwarven race.”

“Oh. I-uh thank…thank you.” Lyla tightened her grip on the piece of jewelry feeling completely inadequate to handle such a significant token.

But she was humbled by the two princes who knelt before her, their large eyes shining with a warmth and affection that her mind craved and she found that she could not refuse them.   
******  
Several hours later, as the company followed Gandalf towards their refuge, many members of the company pestered her concerning her health.   
Though she understood why, now. 

Before they marched out, she had made her way to the stream flanked by Fili, Kili and Bofur, to get a drink and, hopefully, clean the grime off her face, all the while harangued by the pesky Durins and the cheerful miner with question after question. 

‘Are ye alright to walk?’

‘Do you want some help getting to the river?’

‘You won’t fall in will you?’

‘Are you always that pale? Maybe you should sit down’

It was enough to drive her crazy. But after repeatedly explaining that she was indeed relatively capable of taking care of herself, they left the questions alone. But they followed her like faithful sheep, keeping an ever watchful eye on her walking and breathing, lest she suddenly lose her balance. 

She learned that Oin and Ori had tended to her while unconscious, but there remained a sense of unease within her, knowing that she still sported blood in her hair and on her face. She needed it off of her. 

But as she leaned over the side of the bank to cup water into her hands, she a startled gasp had escaped her lips. 

Her reflection presented, with startling clarity, each bruise welt and angry red scratch on her face. Her nose was the color of lilacs, her throat mottled with green and deep purple bruising, a long scratch ran down her cheek. 

Well. She’d certainly seen better days. 

And she did hurt. Her stomach, she knew, was probably several shades different than her normal coloring, and her throat ached something fierce. 

But it seemed that Azog had not intended to break any bones when he had kicked her. No. He had relished inflicting pain on her in a slow deliberate manner, drawing out the pain as long as possible.

She had then closed her eyes and dunked her entire head into the frigid water silencing the thoughts, and refused to look at her reflection again.

She had felt immensely better, though, when Dwalin returned her little sword to her, cleaned of the grime from her scuffle and glinting in the sunlight. 

Now as they traveled, she patted the hilt reassuringly and felt an odd sense of calm settle over her knowing that if push came to shove, she could use her little sword to defend herself.

Somewhat.

So, she wasn’t completely helpless after all. 

Her fingers traveled to the ring that Fili had tied to a leather strand for her and gazed contemplatively at the leader of their company who was walking near Gandalf, his hair tousled by the breeze and his gait slowed and a tad unsteady (though his nephews were there to lend support—discreetly—when needed). He’d shed his jacket, opting to carry it instead and Lyla could see the strain of his muscles through his tunic, the way they rippled and moved as he marched forward. She could also see the pain radiating off of him.

And since she had woken up, she’d been greeted (mostly with warm reception) by every member of the their rag tag band of misfits. Even Bifur had grunted at her and gave her a light clap on the back.

Not so with Thorin Oakenshield.

In fact, the dwarf didn’t even acknowledge her presence. He never looked in her direction or said two words to her. 

He was ignoring her again.

And she couldn’t figure out what she’d done this time to incite his ire. 

She let out a puff of air as her throat twinged in pain, the collar of her shirt rubbing at the raw skin and pushed thoughts of the leader out of her head. Though she’d admit that it did hurt that no matter what she did, Thorin Oakenshield was determined to think ill of her. 

“Master Baggins?” 

Lyla’s head jerked up and she stared at Ori who had come up beside her. He gave her a hesitant smile, his freckles standing out against his pale skin and his red hair shining in the sunlight. 

Lyla gave an encouraging smile. Out of all the dwarves, Ori seemed to be afflicted with shyness and barely spoke to Lyla (or anyone other than his brothers) if he could help it. 

“What can I do for you Master Ori?” She replied, putting a hand on his shoulder to, hopefully, instill some comfort to the sweater-clad dwarf.

Ori rubbed the back of his neck carefully and gave Lyla a hopeful look. “I was wondering if you’d allow me to draw your portrait when we have a moment to rest.”  
Her portrait? 

“But why?” She saw Ori’s downcast face and quickly tried to make amends, “ I mean, of course you can Ori, you mistook my words. I don’t mind that at all. I’m merely confused as to why you wish to capture my likeness.”

“Oh!” Ori’s eyes lit up, “I’m the record keeper of the company you see! It’s my job to detail our journey, our successes and-“ he cast a glance at Thorin’s back, “our pitfalls. I’ve been working on portraits of all the dwarves, but I’ve yet to draw you.”

“But I’m just a hobbit. Surely your people won’t care much to know about me.”

Ori gave her a smile, “You are not ordinary Master Baggins. True I haven’t met many hobbits, but you certainly outshine many dwarves that I’ve come across. I know the people will want to hear your story in this grand adventure.”

Lyla’s heart fluttered at the compliment and she ducked her head in appreciation and embarrassment. 

“Thank you.” She murmured.

“Aye that’d be true there Master Ori!” Bofur chimed in, throwing an arm around Lyla’s shoulders, “This is no ordinary hobbit indeed.”

The three lapsed into a companionable silence, Bofur refusing to remove his comforting hold on Lyla (and she suspected it was because he was concerned. Her steps HAD started to falter a bit as exhaustion seeped into her bones again). Lyla tried to enjoy the sunshine and the scenery. The woods rose high into the sky and birds twittered and soared above the company. Small wildflowers dotted alongside the path they travelled on and she resisted the urge to go and pluck one. 

‘That’s what hobbit lasses do Lyla, not men.’ She had to remind herself, though she doubted that the dwarves would know the difference. 

But as the sun started to set, the noises of the forest died and an eerie silence settled around the company. The air started to feel heavy and the hairs on the back of Lyla’s neck rose. 

Then she heard the low rumble of a growl

The company stilled and Bofur pushed Lyla behind him as the company huddled together, weapons drawn.

She noticed a massive shadow hiding in the denser part of the forest, before it suddenly darted towards them, felling bushes and branches in its haste towards them. Lyla’s eyes widened in horror as an enormous bear broke the tree line and sauntered towards them, saliva dripping from its massive, sharp teeth. 

It let out a low, rumbling, roar and rocked back on its haunches, sniffing the air.

Then it charged towards the company, its powerful paws kicking up dirt and a low growl rumbling through its chest. 

“MOVE!” Thorin shouted as the beast neared them. 

They scattered, Bofur tugging the collar of Lyla’s shirt with him, forcing her to follow him towards the bushes.  
And the bear followed. 

Bofur tripped in shock as the beast bore down on them, causing he and Lyla to tumble to the ground so that Lyla was staring at the sky peeking through the trees. 

Oh bebother it all!

The bear let out a low grumble and sniffed at Lyla’s feet and up her legs. 

She scrambled backwards trying to get away, as Bofur let our a roar of his own.

“Leave ‘im alone you oversized rug!”

The bear turned to Bofur who was pointing his mattock at the bear’s face. With a deft movement, it swatted the weapon from the dwarf’s hand and knocked Bofur to the ground once more.

The bear turned back to Lyla, who had scrambled near a tree, and slowly advanced again on the small hobbit, sniffing the dirt and growling lowly. 

Lyla’s heart hammered and she squeezed her eyes shut as the animal’s warm breath blasted in her face.

It let out a massive grown and a terrified squeak erupted from Lyla’s lips. 

She refused to open her eyes. 

Another large blast of warm air and then…

“You most certainly are NOT a dwarf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so how did you feel about all the interactions we've got going on here? I'm particularly interested to see how you felt about Fili and Kili's interactions with Lyla. So, sound off!
> 
> And if you are looking for an amazing read, be sure to check out LuckyHai5's fic 'Good Morning' it's a great AU fem!Bilbo that will have you on the edge of your seat. It's brilliant! 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	17. Little Bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beorn's quite fond of hobbits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow people! So many responses to the last chapter! I'm astonished. Really and truly! Thank you for all the love and support! You guys are great. 
> 
> This chapter is a bit slower in pace than the previous ones. Though I find it to be a rather amusing read at least. I hope you will too!

Lyla’s mouth dropped open in surprise and confusion as the largest man she had ever seen stood before her. 

Granted she hadn’t met many tall folk in the confines of the Shire, but still!

And hadn’t there been a bear pawing at her a moment ago?

Now, there stood a man, easily twelve feet tall—towering over every member of the company including Gandalf—with long scraggly black hair, a bushy tangled beard, clothed in a deep green tunic that reached well below his knees, his feet bare of any footwear. 

And he was staring at her, his dark eyes, narrowed and assessing.

“You most certainly are NOT a dwarf,” he repeated, “But what are you then?” 

He reached down and fingered her blonde curls between his massive fingers, then poked at her ears and shoulders.

“Leave him alone!” Thorin thundered from behind the man, his sword drawn and eyes blazing. Dwalin stood next to him, his battle axe poised at the ready, eyes narrowed into slits, and muttering in the dwarves’ ancient tongue.

The man snarled and whipped around to face the dwarf king who held his position and sent a glare of his own at the hulking man, his blue eyes blazing.

“Do not think you can command me, dwarf,” he growled at Thorin, “You trespass on my land and have no authority here. My judgment decides your fate so choose your actions carefully.” 

Thorin, to his credit, did not advance again. Though his stance stayed firm and his annoyance radiated from him in waves.

Beorn turned back to Lyla and grabbed her ankle, hoisting the hobbit—upside down—into the air.

She let out a squeak of surprise as the blood rushed to her head making her eyes water.

“I know that orcs and goblins," he spa the words, "have been roaming these lands, so tell me now, little one, what type of creature you are before I decide that you share the same fate they experienced.” 

From her vantage point, hanging upside down as she was, she noted that the man’s eyes were narrowed and his lips curved into a deep frown. 

“I’ll have you know,” she mumbled straightening her tunic and belt as best she could, “I may be nothing so fierce or terrifying as a goblin or orc, but I AM a hobbit from the Shire and I am not used to such calloused handling!”

“And just what is a hobbit then?” He growled and gave her a little shake. 

The company howled in annoyance, prepared to charge.

The man sent them another snarling command to keep them at bay. “Do not come near me! I control the little one’s fate.”

‘Blast’ Lyla groaned silently at the predicament. She'd become a bargaining chip to the two groups.

“A-a hobbit? “ How did one explain a hobbit? “Well, it’s nothing so interesting really. We’re known as little people or Halflings in the West from where I hail,” She rattled off answers, “We-ah are small, smaller even than dwarves and cannot grow beards. We live in little homes tucked away in the hills and enjoy good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts such a home can provide us. And well,” Lyla paused for a minute considering just how to placate this obviously distrustful giant, “we possess no magic, except perhaps the stealth required to slip away unnoticed by enemies if we choose.” 

‘Except for now’ she thought in annoyance. ‘Of all the times I could use stealth, I manage to be hung up like some prized fish!’

“You hail from the West?” The man asked in surprise, “What brings you so far from home then? And with a company of dwarves no less. For I see no other ‘hobbits’ in your midst.”

“I-ah…I’m on a quest of sorts…” she trailed off not wanting to divulge the dwarves’ secrets to this complete stranger who held her captive (by her ankles no less). 

“Now, little hobbit,” The man gazed at her curiously righting her in his hands and bringing their faces impossible close together, “What are you and your band of dwarves doing on my land?”

“I believe,” Gandalf’s voice cut through the tension, “That I can answer that Master Beorn.”

‘So that’s his name.’ 

The giant man, Beorn, turned towards Gandalf and let out a low chuckle, “Ah Gandalf the Grey. I do not believe we have ever met, though I do know your close friend Radagast quite well.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf remarked drily, “Radagast is a most valued friend. A great lover of animals and nature like yourself,” He sent Beorn a charming smile, “Now, if you’d be so kind to place Master Baggins back down, I believe I can explain everything. It may take some time however, and we are terribly weary.” 

Beorn sighed, “I see your tricks wizard,” he growled (though with less ferocity than before), “ And youo must know how I feel about those who trespass on my land. But I am intrigued by this tale of yours.”

Instead of placing Lyla on the ground, however, he raised the protesting hobbit higher and perched her on his shoulder much to her consternation.

“Put me down now!” she screeched clinging to the giant’s hair. Beorn only chuckled at her antics, clearly unruffled by her actions.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied to her, “I see you are injured and the fastest way to get to my home will be to ride on my shoulder.” And then he winked at her. Winked! “But more than that, I find you fascinating and would very much like to indulge in your company.”

Beorn then turned to the dwarves who were still poised to attack, looks of rage lacing each of their features. “Far better company than dwarves I imagine,” he muttered and then sighed, “Follow me then you lot. And keep up. I’ll not be wasting time gathering you together should you become separated.” 

And then he was off, his massive footfalls rumbling through the forest.  
*****  
Only when they were all safely tucked away in Beorn’s impossibly large hut, did the giant relinquish his hold on Lyla and lowered her from her perch atop his shoulder. He did, however, place her in a large chair next to himself, on a chair large enough to impede escape from his attentions.

It was all rather disconcerting to say the least. 

Mercifully though, he presented the dwarves with large tankards of ale and even larger plates of sweet bread, butter, honey and spicy leafy greens carried on the backs of ponies no less!

That had surprised Lyla a little. She’d never been served by a pony before. 

It was…

Unusual.

Though, the whole situation seemed a bit odd.

But her mouth watered at the feast before her, her stomach giving a low rumble of protest at her hesitancy to touch the food. Beorn, however, took a large chunk of bread, slathered in whipped butter and golden honey and thrust it into the hands of the famished hobbit. 

“Here you are little hobbit. Best eat up! You look a bit thin for someone claiming to love food as much as you do.”

Lyla didn’t argue, but sat (quite contentedly now) munching on the warm flaky bread. The honey was rich and delightfully soothing. So too was the large mug filled with ale that the giant handed to her. 

She nearly giggled at how absurd she must look sitting in a rather large chair with a tankard of ale that could very well satisfy the thirst of at least four hobbits. She felt like a tween again.

And she supposed she had been too hasty with her judgments of the giant.

She took another large slice of sweet bread Beorn offered her and tucked in.

“Now!” the giant boomed, once everyone was situated, “Let’s here this grand tale of your Gandalf. It had better be good if you are to remain in this house. I’m not particularly fond of guests. And so many besides! If you can convince me of your need, then I shall supply it.” He turned and smiled at Lyla, his eyes twinkling in mirth, “Though I may keep the hobbit for myself.”

He winked at her again.

A murmur of annoyance spread through the company as more than one dwarf shot Beorn a glare. And she thought she heard the low rumble of Dwalin’s voice spouting threats of bodily harm should the giant try to cage her up.

Lyla could feel her ears going pink and she rescinded her earlier silent apology. 

The brute was intentionally pushing the dwarves’ patience. And for what really? Amusement? Clearly he did not enjoy their company and was causing a stir to satiate his ego. And Thorin wasn't helping matters by glaring viciously at Lyla as she sat atop her chair. His arms were crossed, his face set in a deep frown as his hair cascaded over his shoulders, hiding some of the bruises on his face.

Bebother and confusticate all of it! And Everyone!

She took another large bite of her bread determined to ignore everyone and the growing tension.

“Well, let us begin then!” Gandalf remarked cheerfully, launching into the tale. 

He had Balin recount the events of the mountain pass, the thunder battle, Fili, Kili and Lyla’s fall (Thorin and Beorn both shot Lyla inquisitive looks), and their imprisonment in Goblin Town.

Lyla’s attention was riveted as Balin wove his tale of how hoards of goblins had converged upon them dragging them to the great goblin king, who demanded Thorin’s head. Her heart clenched at the images that flashed through her mind of the orc she’d seen threatening Thorin’s life. 

Then Balin mentioned how Gandalf had rescued them, they’d slain the great goblin king and escaped the mountain’s caves.

“And how, did you all come back together then?” Beorn questioned eying the dwarves and Lyla, “If three of your company fell over the side of the mountain as you claim,” here doubt seeped into his voice, “How did you manage to survive such a fall?”

Lyla’s throat constricted and she hazarded a glance at Fili and Kili.

The brothers, however, seemed rather unruffled. 

“Well it was nothing so dramatic,” Kili replied waving his hand, “Fili has an exceptional skill with knives you see. Managed to get one to grip onto an overhanging ledge and we found a small alcove to hide in until the rain stopped and we were able to climb up.”

So that’s how they’d done it!

“We did have a nasty run in with a rogue band of goblins. Nasty creatures really,” Fili wrinkled his nose, “Had to push them over an outcropping ledge to get away. Nearly tumbled over with them.”

Then Beorn turned to Lyla.

“And what of you?” He remarked gruffly eyes assessing the tiny hobbit, “What’s your harrowing tale?”

Lyla was caught in a quandary for a moment, considering her own experience: the slimy creature, the game of riddles, the ring.

She found herself wanting to escape the memory, and protect her secrets.

But why should she?

“Well,” She mumbled averting her eyes from any the onlookers, “I, uh, managed to land on a ledge and stumbled through the tunnels.”

“You managed to make it through the tunnels without meeting any foul creatures?” Beorn questioned incredulously, “That is a rather impressive stroke of luck if I do say so!” 

Lyla laughed nervously.

Luck indeed.

It was here that Gandalf took over the conversation, though Lyla did catch the way the wizard narrowed his at her questioningly. 

He recounted their dart into the trees, the fire, the falling, Azog and Thorin’s scuffle and Lyla’s defense of the dwarf king. 

Her ears were burning by this point and she wished people would stop commenting about her earlier actions. But Beorn seemed immensely impressed and gave a bright toothy smile.

“Indeed?” He boomed, “This little rabbit managed to best a slew of orcs and wargs? I can’t believe that!”

“I am NOT a rabbit,” Lyla huffed in annoyance even as she fought back a yawn. Her belly much more full than it had been in a long while, her eyes were starting to droop. 

Beorn laughed, “Oh little bunny, getting drowsy from bread and honey?” He ruffled Lyla’s hair, the dwarves grumbling in annoyance at the giant’s antics.

“NOT A RABBIT,” she repeated.

“But I confess it is true,” Gandalf remarked pulling out his pipe, “This little hobbit showed remarkable courage and reliance.”

Beorn cast a glance her way again, a thoughtful look clouding his features, “That certainly explains the injuries to your face and arms.” Then he let out a chuckle, “And it certainly explains the dwarves’ obvious protectiveness over you.” Then he frowned and turned to face Gandalf, his smile disappearing, “Though that doesn’t explain WHY your company of dwarf warriors would permit a woman to enter battle in the first place.”

Lyla’s eyes widened in shock, as the comment rocked her back to full alert. 

Had he just…?

Did he really…?

‘Oh no’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you have it. The magical words have come out and now we'll be gearing up for the chaos to erupt. It should be highly entertaining. Hopefully.
> 
> But tell me, what did YOU think of this chapter? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> And if you want another great read, check out LuckyHai5's fic 'Good Morning' it's AMAZING! 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	18. The Stubbornness of a Dwarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos erupts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Heavens! The response for the last chapter had me reeling! Seriously! I never expected such a large response. It certainly was a humbling experience. Thank you! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I'm actually rather nervous about it!

It was as if Lyla’s stomach had shrunk, coiling into knots making her regret that third slice of buttery bread. Bile rose into her throat as thirteen pairs of dwarven eyes bore into her. Heat rose to her cheeks, making the bruise across her nose tingle.

She swallowed painfully and waited with baited breath for the tirade to start. 

“Well it’s about ruddy time!” Bofur remarked grabbing his tankard and taking a slurping gulp. His hat was askew and he bore a marvelous grin on his face. “I was wonderin’ when we’d get this out in the open. A relief to finally have us the know the truth, aye lass?”

It was Bofur’s turn to wink at Lyla.

Wait, what?

How did he…?

“Durin’s beard, you’re a girl?!” Kili questioned incredulously, eyes going wide.

“Well of course she is, you dolt!” Fili countered, “I mean look at her face! That’s a girl’s face if ever I’ve seen one.”  


Lyla’s ears went pink at the assessment.

“But you haven’t ever seen one! And you certainly didn’t realize that Master Baggins was a lass!” Chortled Nori with a cheeky grin as he puffed on his pipe.  


Fili sat glaring at Nori, muttering in the dwarves’ private tongue (and Lyla suspected that they weren’t kind words). 

Voices rose and chaos erupted around the wide-eyed hobbit who sat perched in her oversized chair, watching the dwarves gesturing, shouting, banging their glasses down, and shooting Lyla inquisitive looks. 

“I said she was a girl this whole time didn’t I?” There was Bofur again. “Aye the little lass couldn’t fool me.” He grinned triumphantly at the company. 

“Frightful bad luck to bring a woman on a journey like this,” Gloin muttered darkly, “Nothin’ but trouble it’ll be.” He shot her a grumpy look.

“Time to pay up Dori!” Nori crowed, and a small cheer went up within the company. 

Dori grumbled in a low voice and produced a few pouches from a hidden pocket in his coat and tossed them to Bofur, Nori, Bifur, and Balin. 

What? 

How did so many guess her secret?

And then they’d bet on whether she was female?! 

How utterly ridiculous! 

“Now just a minute here-“ She began.

The voices of the company rose louder, drowning out Lyla’s voice.

“Is your name really Bilbo then?” Ori questioned quietly, curiosity shining in his large brown eyes.

“Well uh-“

“Has your hair always been that short?” Dori remarked, “Don’t tell me you cut it just to fool us! You could have braided it you know. We dwarves would have never known the difference.”

“You see-“

“Do hobbit lasses always wear trousers then? Like the men do?” Kili. 

“Not particularly-“

“Can you cook then? I’d like to have someone else in the company cook once in awhile,” 

“Well Bombur actually-“

“This certainly explains why she’d disappear when we’d bathe or…”

“Or why she slept further away from the rest of us.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me check her injuries then, yes?” Oin muttered grumpily, turning towards Dwalin, who had yet to speak. 

Dwalin sat arms folded, an unreadable expression on his face, “Aye, that’d be the truth of it,” he muttered lowly, “I handled her injuries just fine both times, so lay off questionin’ me.” He sent a glare to the grizzled face of the medic. 

“Dwalin knew?!” 

“Why’d you tell him Master Boggins?” 

“When did ‘e figure it out then?” 

“Why’d you keep it a secret from the rest of us?”

The dwarves were firing questions and thoughts around her so fast that she couldn’t answer anyone. Bifur too sat, gesturing wildly at Bofur and Bombur who were laughing and nodding their heads. 

Nori was smirking as he counted his coins, while Ori fidgeted with his sweater, shooting Lyla curious glances, a blush marring his cheeks. 

Thorin remained like a statue, his face darkening as the chaos continued around him. 

Instead of even bothering to answer, she sat there, slack-jawed at the turn of events. She could feel Beorn chuckling beside her and she noted that Gandalf had an amused look on his face. 

Her head was spinning from the cacophony of noise and tittering excitement that flitted through the company and she couldn’t decipher really who was speaking anymore. 

“How’d he figure it out then I wonder?” Dori remarked contemplatively, clearly referring to Dwalin’s knowledge concering Lyla’s gender.

“Must ‘ave been her hands. They are dainty little things.” Bofur commented thoughtfully

“Or maybe her nose? It’s rather small as well. I don’t suppose the hobbit women folk don’t have large noses. Not like dwarves in any case”

“Aye that’s true enough!” Gloin retorted. And then they launched into a bet against one another concerning the TRUE reason Dwalin had figured out Lyla's secret. 

“I don’t get what’s so different about women folk anyway. What’ve they got that the menfolk don’t have?” Kili remarked, sending Fili into a fit of laughter nearly choking on his ale.

“Are we going to make her fight the dragon then?” Ori questioned, “I mean her being a lady n’all. Would it be proper?”

“Shazara!” Thorin finally roared rising to his feet. His eyes were blazing as he turned to Lyla.

The room went still. 

“What game is this then?!” He growled, “What trick are you trying to play?”

“I beg your pardon?” Lyla questioned confused.

Trick?

“I will not tolerate your ignorance any longer!” He thundered sending a glare her way, his blue eyes piercing into her hazel ones. Lyla’s stomach clenched painfully and resisted the urge to squirm at the scrutiny in the dwarf’s gaze. “Why did you deceive this company?”

“I-“

“I believe,” Gandalf cut in, “That I was the reason behind the hobbit’s deception. I knew you would have refused her had you known the truth.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed further as he turned to Gandalf.

“Confound it wizard of course I would have refused! What did you hope to gain from this little charade?!”

“My dear fellow,” Gandalf waved off Thorin’s attitude flippantly, “I hoped to gain nothing more than an exceptional burglar for your quest.”

Thorin was sputtering, “That burglar of yours is a female! Women do NOT belong on quests!”

Gandalf had risen to his feet, “If I say that Master Baggins is burglar, then a burglar she is! There’s a lot more to her than meets the eye and she’s got a great deal more to offer than you suppose!”

“And Master Oakenshield, surely you can see how the hobbit’s been an asset to this company.” Bofur tried to placate the furious king.

Thorin threw a glare at him for his efforts. “Stay out of this miner. It is MY home we are trying to reclaim and I won’t allow some soft shelled simpleton of a woman detract from success.”

Soft shelled? Simpleton?! Lyla’s eyes narrowed.

“Aye soft she may be, but certainly no simpleton,” Bofur muttered darkly. “And you’d do well to remember that you highness.”

“And you!” He turned back to Lyla ignoring Bofur’s blatant threat, “Come with me now Halfling. We have matters to discuss.”

He advanced towards Lyla with an almost predatory gait the tension rippling off his shoulders, his face set in a firm and unmovable frown. 

Beorn started growling at Thorin’s movements and grabbed Lyla by the collar of her shirt, hoisting her into the like a kitten, out of Thorin’s grasp.

“Stand down dwarf!” he thundered, “You shan’t harm this little creature! I forbid it.”

“That creature is a member of MY company, and I’ll do what I please. Now release her!”

“I shall not!” Beorn growled, “Perhaps I should make good my threat and keep the little bunny here with me then! I shall not allow further harm to come to this tiny creature.”

Thorin sighed in frustration and pinched his nose, wincing at the large gash running across the bridge of it.

“I mean her no harm,” He muttered in annoyance and then he sighed and gave Beorn a firm look, “I promise not to harm her. You have my word.”

“And where was your WORD,” Beorn sneered, “when she entered battle on your behalf? You did not protect her then. How can I believe that you’ll protect her now? I thought dwarves prized women above all other things.” Beorn’s glare tore through the company.

Lyla had quite enough of this. It was all getting simply ridiculous. 

“Master Beorn,” He muttered with a defeated sigh,” Let me down please. I wish to speak with Master Oakenshield.”

Beorn let out a noncommittal growl but let the hobbit down to the ground gently. Lyla steadied herself and straightened her tunic. 

“Alright then Master Dwarf,” she huffed, sending a glare at Thorin, “Lead on.”

Thorin gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, slowly walking towards the entry to another room.

Dwalin was immediately on his feet, battle axe drawn and following the dwarf king.

“Come along then lass,” Dwalin grumbled, “Let’s get this over with.”

Huh?

Thorin shot Dwalin a surprised look, “I don’t need a sentry on guard while I talk with a Halfling. Sure you know that?”

Dwalin sent a glare to the king, “Aye I know that,” he muttered, “But I wasn’t coming for you. I’ve seen yer temper when yer good and riled. You tend to forget yerself when yer angry.”

Lyla’s eyebrows shot into her hair line and Thorin sported a dumbfounded look upon his face. 

Had Dwalin really just insulted his king? And for what? 

A hobbit?

“And we best not forget ‘bout me either,” Bofur’s hand came to rest on Lyla’s shoulder and he leveled a look at Thorin, challenging him.

The dwarf king, to his credit, merely nodded and then lead the way from the room.

With a resigned sigh, Lyla followed, flanked by Dwalin and Bofur, with Gandalf trailing behind.

***  
“Now tell me Halfling” Lyla was keenly aware that Thorin was refusing to use her name, “Just why you chose to lie to this company.”

Lyla squared her shoulders and gave Thorin a firm look, “I only did what Gandalf recommended and I meant no harm with my actions.”

Thorin scoffed and sent her a glare, his arms clasped behind his back. “So was this all a game to you then? A way to go exploring was it?” His ire was rising and Lyla could see it.

“That’s not it at all really-“

“Isn’t it?!” Thorin muttered darkly, “Isn’t this just a game for a hobbit lass who can’t fit in with her own people.”

Ouch.

“Now just a minute here-“

“No!” Thorin grumbled, “I will not cease. You!” He pointed a large finger towards Lyla, “Have come into this company through false means and should leave at once. This isn’t a game for a simple country child to play. There are real consequences.”

“I understand that!” Lyla huffed in annoyance, her own anger boiling. “I came on this journey fully aware of that.”

“Do you? Do you really?” Thorin scoffed, “It seems to me that you’re merely a child playing a game. You know nothing of hardship or the world, nothing of war, and certainly nothing of loss! You do not know how to survive in the wild. Tell me Master Baggins,” he sneered her name, “What was the motivation for your actions earlier? The search for fame and purpose? Trying to find meaning in your life outside of the Shire where you never belonged to begin with? What a pity if must have been for your mother to have such a daughter-“

CRACK!

Lyla’s palm connected with the dwarf king’s face before she even had time to process her actions. 

“How dare you!” She seethed at the stunned dwarf, “Don’t ever mention my mother! You know nothing of me Master Oakenshield. You know not my life nor my history so I suggest you remain silent on the subject! I came on the quest at the request of Gandalf. I hid the truth because he suggested it. For no other reason than that! You would not have let me come otherwise. I meant no offense and I certainly don’t treat this excursion like some sort of game. I know the stakes, I know how much it means to you!”  


And to her annoyance, tears of anger welled in her eyes, “I know you doubt me. I know you always have, and you’re right I am soft. I’ve never really experienced life out of the Shire. But I do know hardship.” She swallowed back the emotions and memories of the Fell Winter, “And that’s why I did what I did.” She shrugged, “I couldn’t let you lose your chance. You deserved a chance. And confound it all!” She huffed, “I care about your happiness!”

Her eyes widened and then she blanched.

Had she really just said that?

Had she really just done that?! Aule help her.

“Oh, save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” She growled sending Thorin—who had yet to move—a glare and then turned on her heel. 

“Goodnight,” she muttered stalking away. 

She’d had enough of dwarves for one day thank you!  
***  
Thorin watched the Hobbit retreat with a clouded expression, still reeling from the slap he’d received. It hadn't hurt so much as surprised him. 

Something strange bloomed in him as he watched her (HER!) retreat through the doorway. 

Respect?

Surprise?

Something. 

“Well I’d say ye fair deserved that,” Dwalin grumbled crossing his arms over his chest. “And here I was afraid the lass couldn’t hold her own.”

Bofur sniggered, “Aye, full o’spirit that one is.” Then he sent Thorin a glare, “Though not deservin’ of yer ire yer highness.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf chimed in, eyebrow raised, “Your pride has clearly clouded your judgment Thorin Oakenshield. And that,” he huffed, “Will be your downfall.”

Suddenly Thorin was defensive. “You cannot be serious! I am the leader of this company and as such I should know the truth! Why did no one tell me what was going on?”

“And what good would it have done you?” Gandalf was suddenly angry, towering over Thorin, “As far as I can tell you’ve done nothing but condemn that creature since the first day of this journey!”

“But a woman isn’t fit to be travelling in the wild!” Thorin growled, glaring back at the wizard. Didn’t he understand this? Women should remain at home, where it was safe. “I will not have that guilt on my conscience if something should befall the lass.”

“I seem to recall you mentioning that you could not guarantee her safety,” Gandalf muttered, “Nor that you would be responsible for her fate.”

“She’s a woman! Had I known that from the start, I would have refused to allow her on this journey. A bumbling male, perhaps, but a woman? She’s incapable of surviving!”  


‘nor should she have to’ he thought dourly. ‘She should be back in her warm little hole. Protected. Safe.’

He couldn't allow that to dwell on his conscience. 

“Aye, but that woman has saved this company more than once,” remarked Balin coming through the doorway.

“The trolls?” Thorin retorted, “They were her mess in the first place!”

“That’s not true Uncle,” Fili cut in, “It was our fault the ponies got loose and Master Baggins was only trying to help.”

“And she saved my life!” Bofur retorted glaring at Thorin, a firm grip on his mattock.

Thorin was surprised at the fierce loyalty the hobbit had garnered in such a short amount of time amongst battle hardened dwarves.

Had she bewitched them somehow.

'Women and their seductive ways! Bah!'

“She saved your life Uncle,” Fili remarked quietly, sending Thorin a confused look, “She defended you when we could not.”

“She defended me?” He scoffed, “You would have defended me had she not caused you to go tumbling over the side of a cliff!”

“Do you truly believe that?” Balin questioned patiently, raising an eyebrow at Thorin. 

He didn’t know what to believe anymore 

“He’s taken her!” Ori cried, stumbling into the room, “Master Beorn has carted the hobbit off and says he’ll not return her until he’s good and ready!”

A cry of outrage ran through the company at Beorn’s impertinent attitude many of the company muttering about ways to exact justice for their burglar. 

Thorin groaned and ran a hand through his tangled hair.

Mahal help him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Confused as Lyla was? Do you just want to smack Thorin a little? I confess it was a difficult one to write because there were so many dwarves to capture and so many thoughts that ran through my head at how they'd react. I hope it made sense. It was certainly entertaining for me to reread it. But let me know what you think.
> 
> And if you're interested, I love listening to music when I write and certain songs sort of set the mood. So here's the piece that was playing when I was writing. It makes me giggle every time I listen to it: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/ZHetvDqnkzE
> 
> And if you want to read a remarkable story, go check out LuckyHai5's 'Good Morning'. It's fantastic!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	19. Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little bunny hides away and conversations erupt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys! You really are so amazing. I can't believe how many people have responded to this story! These last two chapters in particular have seen such a huge response! Thank you you lovely readers you! I'm just in shock! I hope you enjoy this chapter. We're taking another departure into foreign territory so I'm curious to see what you think.
> 
> And know that I'm going to be gone this weekend at a wedding so I'm trying to get as much posted as possible for you to enjoy in case I can't post before Monday. 
> 
> And here's a song for you to listen to with the chapter if you'd like. It's one of the many that inspired this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/mWRsgZuwf_8

“With all due respect Master Beorn,” Lyla huffed indignantly as she rested on the giant’s shoulder once again, “As much as I appreciate the sentiment of you protecting me from the company, kidnapping me hardly seems a logical reaction.”

Beorn laughed as he set the hobbit down on a rather high table and patted her on the head gently. “Indeed little bunny, don’t worry yourself so! I have not kidnapped you!”

Lyla hazarded a glance to the ground and surmised that jumping would be a stupid idea. 

It probably wouldn’t kill her.

But it would certainly hurt. 

Hadn’t kidnapped her?

Ha!

She grumbled in annoyance and folded her arms around herself. “I’m hard pressed to believe that.”

She had been scooped up and whisked away (despite the protests of a few of the company members) as soon as she had come back into the giant’s presence. And now she found herself in a bedroom of sorts, a massive door standing between herself and her dwarven company, and sitting on a rather large table with no foreseeable method of getting to the floor. 

Beorn could say what he liked, but Lyla was certain she’d been kidnapped. 

As it was the giant simply grinned and handed her a large piece of honeycomb.

Lyla, much to her embarrassment, felt her stomach rumble, and she took the proffered treat without hesitation, delighting in the silky texture of the morsel as it slid down her throat.

That is until a large finger poked at her stomach gently.

“I beg your pardon!” She stuttered, her cheeks flaming, “What on earth are you doing?!”

Beorn chuckled, “I was trying to determine just where all my food seems to disappear to. I’ve never met a creature so small, who loved food so much! Indeed you have quite the appetite.”

Lyla sniffed, “I’ll have you know that I have the same appetite as your average hobbit. I’m not a glutton thank you very much!”

The giant laughed again, “I meant no offense, little bunny. Truly I did not. I am merely astonished.”

“As I told you before, I am NOT a bunny or a rabbit or an animal of any kind,” Lyla muttered, a scowl playing on her lips even as she continued to nibble on the honeycomb.  
Bunny indeed. 

Beorn brought forth a bowl of water and a large rag.

“Never you fear little bunny, I promise that you haven’t been kidnapped,” He reassured her earlier suspicions, but stopped quite suddenly, his bushy eyebrows knitting together and his expression going thoughtful, “Well, not permanently anyway. Though perhaps I may rescind that testament and keep you here after all.”

Then he winked at her, a toothy grin gracing his face. 

“But you can’t just keep me here!” She admonished with a deep frown, “I’m not some pet for you to lavish your attentions on!”

“Oh but you’d be very content here!” Beorn remarked cheerfully, “You’d want for nothing: food, shelter, a relaxing bed. It’d all be provided for you. I could take care of your every need my little rabbit.”

“I am NOT a rabbit Master Beorn. I have a name you know!” 

Beorn waved off her remark, “And you’d be safe here! Much safer than you have been,” His eyes darkened as he gazed at Lyla, eyes darting across her face and down to her neck.

She rubbed her bruised throat self-consciously and gazed at the floor..

Then the giant laughed again suddenly, his face brightening and ruffled her hair, a smile tugging at his lips as he dipped the rag in the warm water, “No you are not to remain here I suppose, my little bunny. Much too spirited to be caged up. Though I may not return you to your company anytime soon. Best let them stew over their actions yes? So let’s get you cleaned up and refreshed and then you get some rest. I’ll take care of your dwarves.”

“You won’t be too…harsh with them will you?” 

Would he throw them from the safety of his home?

The thought didn't sit well with her.

Beorn stared at her for a moment, confusion written on his features. “Too harsh with them?” Then he scoffed, “They deserve none of the comforts I provide.”

He scowled at the wall.

“Dwarves,” He spat the word, “are a selfish race. They destroy the beauty of the forests, the mountains and for what? Riches?” He scoffed again, “They pride themselves on their treasures of gold and jewels and care nothing for the true beauty of nature, of family.”

Beorn’s gaze shifted to Lyla, “How they’ve come to garner your affections I cannot guess. You are a child of the earth, it’s quite clear. You care nothing for the conquests of the dwarves, their insatiable thirst for power and gold. And yet you treat them like rare jewels.” Then he frowned, “But I find their treatment of YOU immensely displeasing. Especially the leader of your company. A woman should know she is valued. She should not be abused as you have been.”

“They are not as terrible as you paint them. And in all fairness, Master Beorn,” Lyla remarked, a desire to defend her dwarves welling in her, “They did not know I was a woman. Not at the time.”

Beorn fixed her with a firm gaze, all traces of mirth gone from his features, “You willingly sacrifice your life for Thorin Oakenshield? Why?”

Lyla’s ears heated up and she ducked her head.

“I don’t rightly know exactly,” She murmured, “I just. It was the right thing to do. I knew it was. I couldn’t let him suffer. He deserves so much.”

“So much of what? Gold? Riches? Jewels? What?”

“He deserves his home back,” she replied quietly, reaffirming her own feelings on the matter, “Regardless of what he’s said to me,” anger bubbled at the memory, “He deserves to have his dream fulfilled, his home back, with his family by his side. And if I could help him achieve that, then,” She swallowed, “It’s all worth it.”

“So you forgive him then? For his actions?” Master Beorn asked incredulously, “You’d simply follow him even after all that?”

Lyla scoffed, “Oh I didn’t say I forgive his words,” her eyes narrowed, “Thorin Oakenshield has a great deal to learn about womenfolk it seems. No I am far from pleased with him. But,” Then she smirked her eyes twinkling. “But I believe that I can get my point across.”

Beorn laughter rolled forth and he ruffled Lyla’s thick blonde curls affectionately.

“Oh but if I could keep you here. You’d make for delightful company I’m sure!” 

Very gently (almost absurdly so) Beorn wiped at Lyla’s face, clearing whatever grime was still on her, as he hummed a low tune. 

The water was soothing and Lyla closed her eyes, relishing in the deep baritone of the giant’s voice.

“What is that?” She murmured quietly, a softy yawn escaping her lips.

Beorn chuckled, “It is the song of my people. A very old tune that my mother sang to me when I was a child.”

“It’s beautiful.”

The rag disappeared from her face and Lyla opened her eyes to see Beorn studying her carefully, brows knit together. A soft smile graced his lips.

“Long ago, my people used to live in the mountains. We were a part of them. But then, we were driven out, forced to abandon our homes and lives.”

Beorn’s face contorted into fury and Lyla's heart clenched for such a painful loss. How it must have hurt Beorn to witness the loss of his homeland.

“The orcs and goblins have scattered us, and weakened us.”

Then the smile returned. “The song of my people tells of a time when we will be reunited, when we will take back our homes and finally be whole once more.”

His gaze found Lyla’s.

“Much like your dwarves I suppose.” 'Indeed. Very much like my dwarves.' she thought 'How interesting...'

He winked at her again and patted her shoulder.

“Now little bunny, it’s best if you get some sleep. You look ready to fall.”

Setting aside the bowl of water and the rag, he lifted Lyla up and carried her over to an impossibly large bed.

“Oh no Master Beorn That’s far too grand a bed for me! I’ll be fine with the rest of the company.”

Beorn scoffed.

“Nonsense you silly little creature. I do not intend to allow you near those dwarves for quite some time. They need to learn a lesson I’m afraid. And you?” He winked at her again, “deserve a small reprieve from your travels and such tedious company.” 

He sniggered at his own joke.

Yes, she had, indeed, been kidnapped.

Though the prospect of remaining a captive to Beorn didn’t appear all that unappealing…

Carefully, Beorn settled Lyla amongst the enormous pillows and pulled the worn blanket around her shoulders.

Lyla yawned involuntarily and snuggled down, each knot and bruise finding a small respite amongst the comfort. 

Beorn chuckled again, “Sleep well little one and please do not venture out of doors this night. I do not wish something bad to befall you.”

“mmhhmm” she replied drowsily.  
*****  
“I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Bofur exclaimed, adjusting his hat, even as he nursed a tankard of ale, “The lass is a gem. Really. She’s an asset to this company.”

A low murmur went up.

“Certainly not bad looking,” Conceded Ori with a blush that sent his brother Nori guffawing.

“And a quick wit she is too,” Bofur praised, “Right smart thing. Never would’ve thought te kick Azog THERE! Aye, she’s a perfect companion.”

“But yer forgetting one important detail Bofur,” Thorin murmured, as he fiddled with his pipe, “She is a woman.”

“And it’s frightful bad luck to bring a woman on a journey this dangerous.” Gloin conceded.

Nori scoffed, "Superstitious stiff. That's ridiculous. She's been a woman this whole time and as far as I can tell she's kept the company together."

Murmurs swept through the group.

“And why is that so bad Master Oakenshield, that she’s a woman? How are women anything inferior to men?”

Thorin sighed. Things were not coming out of his mouth the way he intended.

“I mean that women, they are rare creatures that should be protected. We cannot allow her to travel with us any longer. We cannot send her down to the dragon’s belly.”  
The company went into an uproar.

“She hasn’t slowed us down!” 

“She’s saved our lives more than once!”

“What are we to do without a burglar?”

“But she signed the contract!” Kili exclaimed, “Doesn’t that mean she wants to come with us?”

“Did SHE sign the contract?” Thorin questioned. 

Perhaps that was the key he needed?

“Aye lad, she did.” Balin remarked, a small smile on his face. “She a right smart one. Signed her name hidden in the signature of ‘Bilbo’.”

Fleetingly, Thorin wondered what her real name was...

“Aye,” Thorin remarked his frustration rising, “Be that as it may, I don’t think she realizes the severity of the situation. She doesn’t understand what she’s getting herself into.”

Dwalin snorted. “Aye you keep tellin’ yerself that if it brings you comfort,” He muttered, a dark scowl on his face. 

“Dwalin!” Balin admonished, “He is your king!”

“Aye that’d be true,” Dwalin hissed, “But I’ll still call him an idiot when he is one. Ye can’t deny the foolishness of what yer planning Thorin.”

“I’m doing what I feel to be right,” Thorin retorted, his ire rising. Dwalin knew what buttons to push, “We can’t ask a woman to follow after us, into almost certain death. She’ll slow us down or get hurt. We can’t ask her to take part in that.”

“If I recall correctly,” Dwalin snapped, “WE didn’t ask her anything. Gandalf did. And now I know that she’s a necessary part of this company, whatever you may say about it.”  
Thorin scoffed, “She got lucky. One day her luck will run out.”

Dwalin growled sauntering towards Thorin, “Luck had nothin’ to do with it. It was pure fightin’ spirit and quick wit. I saw it. We all did. Without HER, our entire company would have fallen! You owe her your life.”

“She cannot come with us.”

“We cannot leave her behind!” Dwalin thundered, “What will you have her do then? Travel all the way back to her home, alone in the warg infested plains we just escaped? That’s a suicide mission!”

“No it’s a suicide mission if she comes with us!”

“She made that decision. We should let her choose.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing! She can’t make a decision like that. She’s never had the experiences to know what she was getting into.”

And then Dwalin was upon Thorin, pressing the dwarf king into the wall, the warrior’s arm flush against Thorin’s throat. Dwalin’s eyes were blazing. Thorin kicked his legs out and connected with Dwalin’s knees.

He let out a low groan of pain, but the warrior would not budge.

“Don’t judge her Thorin Oakenshield,” Dwalin hissed, his voice dangerously low. “She has a lot more to offer than even you will acknowledge. She saved your life. I watched you fall," Dwalin's voice cracked at that point, "I watched you let pride rule over sound judgment, nearly losing your head for it. And I watched that little lass place your life above her own. SHE protected you. She SAVED you when we could not. YOU are indebted to her.”

“I know that,” Thorin croaked, as he pushed against’ Dwalin’s shoulders in frustration. His head was spinning, his chest clenching painfully. Oh how he knew that. Truly. “I…can’t let her do something so dangerous. I won’t.”

Dwalin shoved Thorin into the wall as he released him, “You didn’t make that decision for her. SHE did.” 

Then astonishment and understanding dawned on Dwalin’s face, “Aye…that’d be why.” 

He sent Thorin a pitying look.

“Ye can’t stop her.” 

“I can try” Thorin murmured, rubbing his shoulder 

Dwalin’s sighed, “Nothin’ good will come of this. I know what yer thinkin’”

“Then you know that you can’t refuse me. I am the leader and your king. You are bound to follow my orders.”

“Aye,” Dwalin muttered darkly, “That’d be true. But it doesn’t mean that I won’t make yer life hell for yer stupidity.”  
***  
Lyla shot up in bed, sweat pouring from her brow.

Azog’s face had greeted her in her dreams. He loomed over her, his filthy mouth pulled into a gruesome and terrifying mile as he pressed his clawed arm against her throat, 

cutting off her air supply even as she watched another Orc bring its blade down on Thorin Oakenshield’s throat.

She hadn’t been fast enough to save him.

Then the image had twisted into the Fell winter and the wolves. Running from Old Took’s smial back home had nearly cost her life as a pack of wolves descended upon her. If not for the Rangers, she would have surely perished.

But memory of coming home to find that her father had passed on flashed through her subconscious. The deathly pale, still form laying on the bed, the forlorn look on her mother’s face. And the knowledge that she hadn’t been there. 

She hadn’t been there. 

Lyla mopped at her brow and tried to smooth her unruly hair, noting that the pale dawn light was starting to peek over the mountains. 

And it would have been a comforting view if but for the warning in her heart.

Something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Did it live up to your expectations? Feel free to sound off in the comments! 
> 
> And as always, go check out LuckyHai5's fic 'Good Morning' It's an amazing and beautiful piece: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	20. Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get...complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing. I love your reviews and all the feedback you've given me. It makes me happy to see such a response. 
> 
> I warn you this chapter is really...odd. Although I hope it's entertaining. Again it's one of those chapters that I started at least four or five different times and in four or five different ways, but it wrote THIS way. So if it's strange or unusual in cohesion or the characters seem a bit...off I apologize. It simply wouldn't write any other way. 
> 
> All the same though, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> And I'll be gone for the weekend, hence this update at nearly 4:00 am. Hopefully I'll be able to post a chapter on Monday though, so we'll see!

The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was starting to lighten as the company assembled together silently, tying their newly acquired packs to the ponies Beorn was lending them.

Thorin could feel the tension rolling off many of his company members and the master of the house himself.

Dwalin and Bofur in particular had not taken the news cheerfully. Their narrowed eyes and furious scowls followed Thorin’s movements. Low curses in Khuzdul reached his ears whenever he was close to them.

But he would not be swayed. 

Mistress Baggins—who still slept peacefully—would remain behind with Beorn until Gandalf (who was travelling south) could see her safely back to the Shire when it was convenient. 

When Thorin approached Beorn concerning his wishes, the giant went into a rage and nearly attacked the king had not Dwalin and Bifur stepped forward to protect their king.

“You’d have me betray her?” Beorn growled infuriated.

“I only ask that you protect her. She shouldn’t come on such a perilous journey.” Thorin argued, trying to keep his own temper in check, “A woman has no place in such a company.”

Beorn scoffed, “Clearly you do not understand the worth of a woman.”

But the giant’s growing affection for the hobbit won out over his ire at the dwarf. Beorn didn’t want further injury to befall the Halfling and begrudgingly agreed that he would keep her safe.

“Don’t think though, dwarf,” He hissed, “that your concern for the hobbit has won you favor in my sight. I know it is not your heart that governs your actions. Something festers in you that clouds your judgment.” 

Beorn glared at the king who tried his best to keep his resolve firm.

He’d received plenty of spiteful comments. What was one more?

“I cannot dictate your actions,” Beorn finally sighed, “I will keep her safe so long as she permits it. But, should she desire to chase after you, I shall not stop her.”  
Thorin started to protest, but a growl from the giant stopped him.

“I will not take that choice from her. I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve her loyalty, but she gives it to you freely and I will not impede upon her happiness. If it is you she seeks, then I shall not stand in her way.”

Thorin sighed. He knew it was a fruitless endeavor to argue with Beorn on the subject further. This giant had no care for the dwarves (that much was obvious) nor was he   
confined by allegiance to Thorin’s status as a king. No. Beorn could do as he pleased. 

‘So could the hobbit’ his voice whispered, ‘yet you take that from her.’

Even as he thought those words, the image of the small hobbit floated into his mind and a pain radiated in his chest. 

He knew she didn’t want to be left behind. 

He knew his company wanted her to stay.

But he needed her to be safe. He couldn’t risk another-

Thorin shook his head to dispel the thoughts. 

No.

The hobbit lass deserved far better than a harried group of dwarves in search of their homeland. 

He turned back to securing his provisions, determined to push his doubts aside and get ready to depart within a half hour.  
*****

Lyla stared at the looming forest with trepidation, fingering the leather strap around her neck where Kili’s ring sat. 

True to his word, Beorn had let Lyla go.

After Lyla shouted at him for a good twenty minutes for his treachery.

"I'd rather you stay here," he had muttered, his eyes betraying a deep sadness, "You make for delightful company."

“I have to go! You cannot keep me here against my will." She muttered.

“I thought you’d say that,” he had replied with a wink, “Knew I’d be inciting your anger by agreeing to the dwarf's demands.” He started chuckling, “Let that dwarf think he’d gotten his way, but I knew yer heart. You’d follow those dwarves to the ends of the earth. They’re your family.”

When he’d said that, she’d blanched, surprised by his assessment. 

Her family? 

Surely not!

But the more she stewed atop her pony, Beorn escorting her towards the path into Mirkwood, the more she came to see the truth in his words.  
Why was she so invested in this journey? She had nothing to gain from it.

But she had everything to lose. 

She cared about those stubborn arrogant dwarves. There was nothing waiting back home for her other than trinkets and doilies. There was no laughter, no stories, no smiles, and –Lyla giggled—no disastrous sword training. 

The dwarves WERE her family. 

And she was certain that some of them felt the same. 

And family sticks together.

Bofur’s earlier comments came flooding back:

‘yer as good as family in my book.’

She couldn’t just abandon them. 

“There!” Beorn remarked, pointing a finger ahead of them, “Just over the ridge. I see them.”

She let out a sigh of relief, even as her annoyance reached its peak. 

Bebother that dwarf! He was going to get a piece of her mind. 

*****  
Thorin should have been prepared for it. He really should have known that the blasted giant would escort the hobbit towards them. And with a speed they could not match for thirteen dwarves atop ponies were much slower than a single hobbit. 

But he had denied it until even HE believed it was impossible.

And then he heard her voice calling to them, anger prominent with each syllable. 

By Durin’s beard she was a stubborn one!

“Thorin Oakenshield!” she had shouted, causing the company to come to a halt, “How dare you!”

With a sigh, Thorin turned his pony to face her, and gave a glare, “Why are you here hobbit?” 

He hoped his tone would frighten her, subdue her somehow.

It only seemed to incite her anger further.

“Why am I here?! By Aule are you dense? I signed a contract! And while you might not place value on one’s word, I, on the other hand am a Baggins. And Bagginses do NOT forgo their duty.”

Thorin scoffed. Duty? Surely she didn’t feel it was her duty to go after a dragon.

“You signed that under the guise that you were a man.”

“What does that matter?” She retorted, climbing down from her pony and stalking forward, her blonde curls bouncing with each step she too, her lips pulled into a frown.“Women are just as capable as men.”

‘Her gait is still slow.’ He mused, ‘The bruises must be bothering her’

Dwalin muttered in agreement to the hobbit’s comment, throwing Lyla an apologetic smile.

“I beg yer pardon lass,” He murmured, “I too was ‘duty’ bound.”

He threw a glare Thorin’s way. 

But Thorin was glaring at Beorn.“You lied to me!” He thundered, “I had your word!”

Beorn laughed. “Yes you had my word. But do not take me for a common liar. I told no falsehood!” Beorn chuckled again, “I told you I’d look after her unless she tried to go gallivanting after you. And I’m not one to meddle with the fury of a woman.”

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

Blast it.

“She can’t come with us. It’s too dangerous.”

“You can’t decide that for me!” The hobbit ranted, throwing her hands up in frustration, “I can make my own decisions. Plus, I’m bound by the same contract you are. And I am no oath breaker.”

Thorin tossed his own hands up in frustration, “But you aren’t capable of defending yourself in the wild!”

“You don’t know that! I’ve done pretty well so far!”

“Dumb luck.”

“Then fight me.”

Thorin’s head jerked in surprise and a low murmur whipped through the group.

Had she just…?

“Excuse me?”

Lyla narrowed her eyes at Thorin, “You heard me Master Oakenshield. If I’m as incapable as you claim, prove it.”

Was she mad?!

*****  
Lyla was absolutely mad. 

What had she been thinking threatening to take on this dwarf? She’d sparred with him. She knew what he was capable of. And she knew she was unskilled. She couldn’t best him.  
But she had to do something! 

“fight me,” she repeated again, “If I lose, it’ll prove your theory correct. But if I win, you allow me in this company with no further argument.” 

“I will not fight you,” Thorin muttered, eying Lyla carefully.

“Aye lass, yer injured.” Oin commented, “And so is Thorin. And I’ll not take kindly to you both engaging in such reckless behavior.” 

Lyla huffed, “It doesn’t matter. If Thorin believes that women are incapable of defending themselves, let’s prove his theory. “

Beorn started laughing.

“Are you afraid that this little bunny will best you, your highness?” He chuckled as Thorin shot a glare his way.

Bofur and Nori were sniggering. 

"Aye let's see if ye can take on that little sprite," Bofur exclaimed. "She bested Azog. Let's see how ye handle 'er."

Thorin muttered darkly, descending from his pony.

“So be it.” He growled unsheathing his sword. 

Lyla pulled her small weapon forth and readied her stance. 

Thorin was quick to initiate. 

With lightning speed, even for one injuried as he was, Thorin brought his blade downward, striking Lyla’s own small weapon. Her arms shook and she nearly dropped her blade in surprise at Thorin’s sheer power. She knew he had been holding back the last time they sparred, but she never would have suspected that he had been holding back so much! 

By Aule he was strong!

Then the dwarf was retreating, a scowl on his face.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, adjusting his hands and darting forwards again.

Lyla noted that his feet were pointed to the right. 

He was going to strike on her right.

She adjusted her stance and raised her weapon just as Thorin’s strike descended.

Metal clashed with metal and the dwarf bore down on her, a growl escaping his lips. 

Then he did something completely surprising.

Thorin swept his foot forward, and knocked Lyla clean off her feet. 

She went tumbling to the ground in a heap. 

“I suggest,” Thorin muttered, stepping away and sheathing his sword, “that you stay down. You aren’t prepared for the hardships out here. You’d never survive.”

Anger boiled in Lyla’s veins, her heart was pounding furiously as she watched the dwarf walk away, his back turned. Clearly he was done with this fight. But Lyla wasn’t.

Not by a long shot.

She launched herself upwards and darted at Thorin tackling the dwarf and knocking the wind from her lungs as she and the solid mass of a king landed in a heap. But she was on top of him pinning him to the ground.

She glared at the stunned dwarf whose hair splayed around his head in the most fetching manner.

“Yield.” She commanded ignoring how her heart was hammering.

But Thorin had regained some of his senses and scowled at the hobbit, his face contorted into a deep annoyance. He brought his knees upward and jerked his body to the side, throwing Lyla off. 

He quickly rose to his feet.

But Lyla was right behind him, shoving him backwards.

“You are an idiot!” She growled, “An arrogant idiot!” She tried to shove Thorin again, but the dwarf grabbed her wrists.

“Be still!” he commanded.

She kicked him in the shin.

“I will not!” She hollered, jumping on the dwarf again, knocking him back down to the ground.

But Thorin was prepared this time. 

He rolled before Lyla could pin him. Instead, he swept his foot forward for a second time and knocked Lyla’s feet out from under her. 

Then he was on top of her, pinning her wrists down and leaning close to her face, his blue eyes glittering with fury and the long tendrils of hair tumbling around them both.  
Lyla’s heart was hammering in her chest as Thorin leaned closer, his warm breath floating over her cheeks. 

“Yield,” he murmured lowly, his lips barely moving.

"I will not."

Then a howl echoed in the distance.

Thorin swore and released Lyla slowly rising to his feet with a groan. 

“Wargs,” he muttered darkly staring in the distance, squinting.

Then they widened in shock.

“Move!” He bellowed, grabbing Lyla’s arm and hoisting her to her feet. He shoved her behind him, his sword drawn once more.

“Get the packs! We have to get into the forest.”

Beorn had leapt to his feet and was shaking, a low growl forming in his chest as Lyla noted the dark shapes getting ever larger. 

The company scrambled off their horses to get their packs. 

And then the wargs were upon them. Seven large wolf beasts howled and snapped, bolting into the midst of the company members.

But Lyla’s attention had been diverted to Beorn whose whole body had started shaking, a guttural growl escaped his lips and his eyes darkened.

Suddenly, limbs started shifting, fingers shrinking, fur growing. Instead of hands, he now had paws. His ears shifted to the top of his head, taking on an entirely new shape. His   
mouth and nose elongated.

“By Aule” she whispered.

Beorn had turned into a massive black bear.

He had been the bear!

The bear gazed at her for a moment it's large brown eyes fixing her with a tender look, before darting into the fray, his massive paws crashing down on the heads of two wargs, whose yelps ceased quite rapidly. 

The bear turned towards Lyla and Thorin again, gazing at her again with the same tenderness.

‘Run’ she thought she heard 'stay safe'

“We have to move into the trees!” Thorin shouted, grabbing her arm again and dragging her away.

She noted that the rest of the company was also headed for the shelter of the forest as Beorn contended against the remaining few wargs not cut down by an axe or sword. 

She prayed that he would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I have to say that even Bear Beorn is a sweetheart. I love him. And sound off in the comments! Let me know what you think about this chapter. We're at a transition point right now, but things are about to really take off. 
> 
> And check out LuckyHai5's story 'Good Morning' for a delightful and engaging AU with Fem!Bilbo
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	21. Into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entering Mirkwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well people I'm back from my little wedding trip. Currently my hair is still sporting an insanely large volume of curls and coupled with my short height, I fancy myself to look rather Hobbitish today. Especially since I prefer walking around barefoot...
> 
> What's that? You weren't aware that I'm slightly crazy? Oh I'm sorry...
> 
> Anyway...haha...here's another chapter for you. I hope you enjoy it!

They ran.

They ran even once they passed far into the darkness of the forest, Thorin faithfully tugging her arm, urging her to move faster through the dense foliage.

“Quit your bumbling and pick those feet up,” He snapped, as she tripped over roots and rocks trying to keep his pace. Trees blurred together in a muted cacophony of colors and shapes. 

She could hear the voices of the other company members shouting and gasping for breath. She caught snatches of dark blurs moving through the trees, weaving in and outside her field of vision. She wasn’t sure if wargs were coming after them, or the company keeping pace. 

Quite suddenly, Thorin thrust Lyla to the ground as he whipped around, drawing his sword. Lyla barely had time to blink before a large grey warg descended on them, snapping and snarling. 

The beast lunged at Thorin who gave a growl of his own and brought his sword down upon the warg’s skull, termporarily immobilizing the creature. Dwalin, Dori and Bifur were close behind, Ramming their weapons into the beast’s hide, ensuring a swift death.Then Thorin was yanking her to her feet again and they continued running until Lyla was certain her lungs would burst.

Finally, when they were a good distance down the old pathway into the forest, Thorin’s strides slowed, his grip on her wrist loosened and he stopped, panting. 

A large portion of the company, Lyla included, sank to the ground gasping for breath. But even as they sat wheezing and huffing, Lyla strained her ears listening for the sounds of howling or Beorn’s bear growls. 

She heard nothing other than the sounds of the company as they rustled and groaned, their heavy footfalls and breathing ringing in her ears. 

Part of her was thankful.

The other part fretted over Beorn’s condition. Was he alright? Had they hurt him?

She shook her head to dispell the thoughts of harm coming her new friend's way. He had to be alright. 

She refused to consider anything else.

But then her mind struck on a thought that had her shuddering:

Not a sound was reaching the company. 

Apart from the noise her companions were making, the entire forest was silent. No birds twittered, no beasts scurried, no leaves rustled. It was a deadly silence that had the hairs on Lyla’s neck prickling, a trickle of fear creeping down her spine. 

Then… a noise. Barely there, an infinitesimal snapping of a twig set Lyla on edge, eyes scanning into the darkness. 

She scrambled to her feet and waited with baited breath, muscles tightly wound, heart hammering, panting agitatedly. 

Waiting.

But nothing happened. 

The air escaped Lyla’s lungs in a loud ‘whoosh’ as her muscles slowly uncoiled themselves, her stance relaxing slightly.

Then a growl reverberated in the shadows, low and dangerous. A hissing whisper followed.

Lyla’s hand went to the sword around her waist. But, surprisingly no one else moved. 

And nothing charged them.

But she could have sworn that…

“Easy there lad,” Bofur chattered, clapping her on the shoulder, “I figger we outran ‘em. Ye can let go of yer sword if ye like.”

Warily eyeing the darkness surrounding her, she released the grip on her sword, her fingers aching from holding so tightly.

Had she imagined it?

With a low sigh, Lyla tried to calm her thundering heart. But the feeling of unease would not abate. And the more she gazed around, the more her stomach coiled in dread.  
The massive trees stood dark and ominous, their long spindly roots jutting through the densely packed soil of the pathway. Low hanging branches obscured her view and made  
the forest feel suffocating. And nowhere could she find a patch of direct sunlight streaming through the branches or leaves. Only muted light dispelled some of the darkness. But overall the forest was dense and dank.

And quiet. So utterly quiet that it was disconcerting. She could feel in her bones, the filth and decay and disease running abundantly throughout the foliage, seeping into her skin as she stood there, her bare feet grazing the ground. 

And it made her sick. Her stomach rolled and her hands balled into fists to quell the onslaught of nausea.

“Ye all right there lassie?” Balin’s hand came to rest on her arm, a sympathetic look on his face.

“Y-yes. Yes I’m fine,” She whispered, forcing the bile down. Her fingers moved to the ring around her neck, seeking comfort. 

Balin gave her a questioning look, Bofur gave her a sympathetic one and edged a little closer to her person.

“It’s alright there lass. Yer safe now. Just rest a moment.”

Thorin snorted, leaning on his sword, “Hardly safe. She’d have been much better off back in her little hole in the ground.”

“Well that’s a long ways away isn’t it?” Lyla snapped, glaring at the dwarf, “As it is, I’m here with you. You best get used to it I think.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed at Lyla, and Bofur’s grip on her shoulder tightened slightly as the dwarf king gazed at her, annoyance written in his features, “Yes as it is you are stuck with us for this leg of the journey. But mark my words, Halfling, you will most certainly NOT be accompanying us all the way to Erebor. We’ll secure safe passage for you once we make it through this accursed forest.” 

He sheathed his sword and turned from her, his lips pulled into a frown, eyes gazing warily around as Balin launched into discussion.

“We’ll see about that,” Lyla grumbled, hand reaching for the ring around her throat, “And I do have a name you know.”

Thorin ignored her.

“Aye lass about that,” Bofur remarked, steering her towards Nori and Oin who were rummaging through their packs.

*****  
Thorin was only half listening as Balin indicated the route they needed to take. He knew they were under strict orders from Beorn to follow the old forest road and not deviate from the path for any reason. He also understood Balin’s concerns regarding a few of their missing packs (his and Lyla’s included) and how that would affect their rationing.  
But his attention continued to drift towards the little hobbit being led away by her ever faithful guard, Bofur, towards Oin and Nori who were sifting through their packs.  
Softly, Bofur eased Lyla to a sitting position and Oin maneuvered in front of her.

‘Ah they were looking for injury. Of course’ He hoped he hadn’t caused her any more pain than she was feeling.

She looked far to pale as it was. Her milky skin highlighting the dark purple bruises and the angry red scratches her battles had won her.

“So tell me lass,” Bofur was cheerfully emphasizing the feminine term, “If yer name isn’t Bilbo then what might it be? I can’t just call you lass now can I?”

The hobbit smiled lightly, wincing as her bruised nose wrinkled when her lips curved upwards. Thorin’s guilt spiked at her pain.

“Well,” she murmured, her golden curls falling in front of her eyes, as she gazed downward, “It’s Lyla if you must know. Lyla Baggins.”

Nori whistled suggestively and Bofur knocked him in the back of the head, “Mind yer manners in the presence of a lady!” Bofur retorted, halfheartedly. He turned back to the half…Lyla, “Well bless me, that is a beautiful name that is!”

She turned her face upwards and gave Bofur a small smile, as oin inspected her arms, where a few scrapes were bleeding sluggishly.

Her name was Lyla?

He wondered what her name meant.

No. 

No he didn't. What did he what her name meant? It was nothing to him. 

“But where did the name Bilbo come from then?” Nori questioned unabashedly. Thorin's ears perked at the question. Where DID that name-

“Thorin?”

Thorin jerked back towards Balin’s voice. 

“Yes?”

Balin gave him a smile, “I suppose my words aren’t as interesting as the ones Bofur and the young lass are exchanging aye?”

“Pardon?”

Balin’s smile widened, “Ye were starin’ lad.”

Had he been?

“I was merely curious,” Thorin huffed gruffly, “That hobbit should not have followed us here.”

Balin raised a white brow at his king, “Aye lad, she’s a stubborn little thing.” He amended, “But were you not also wrong in trying to take that choice away from her?”

Thorin snorted. “You of all people should know why I did it.”

“So that IS what this is about then. I had suspected.”

And suddenly Thorin felt a little better knowing that someone understood. To some degree, Balin understood his motivation.

“And Dwalin,” He huffed in frustration, “He’s far too invested in the halfling’s fate. If anything happened—you know what happened last time. It nearly killed me. But Dwalin? I can’t watch him go through that again.”

“Aye lad I do remember. I do indeed," Balin's face held a deep sadness, his eyes darkened with emotion. "But you can’t control everything.” He rested hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “Dwalin knows the risk, as does Mistress Baggins,” He held his hand up when Thorin tried to interrupt. “Say what ye like, but you know she’s aware of the danger. After all we’ve been through and all you’ve seen and heard her do, even ye can’t deny that any longer. Just trust her.”

Thorin sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

The hobbit—Lyla (he amended)—was turning everyone to her side. Convincing anyone in the company that she should no longer be welcomed (for her own safety) was becoming more and more a remote possibility. 

He grumbled lowly as his gaze drifted back towards the hobbit, who had gained more of the company members around her. He watched her eyes light up and an easy smile fall on her lips.

He certainly had his work cut out for him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! A bit of a slow down right here. So I'm curious to see how you feel about the change of pace. I also apologize if the chapter feels a bit short. The next section simply couldn't be included. But, that being said, I may just have two updates today for you to enjoy. Cross your fingers...
> 
> Here's the music that helped inspire this chapter:  
> http://youtu.be/-N6r1jvTxzk
> 
> And as always check out LuckyHai5's awesome work 'Good Morning' 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	22. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood has adverse effects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! I know I always say this, but I'm seriously so astonished that I have people who actually LIKE reading this fic! It makes me so so happy...and so humbled. Thank you for all the kudos, subscriptions, hits, and reviews. You never cease to amaze me! Going AU is difficult sometimes because you aren't quite sure how things will be received. So I appreciate your support and feedback. 
> 
> And here's one of the songs that inspired this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/as1ho6YLzPA

Hobbits are sensitive to the changes in nature. They can tell when the slightest shift in seasons will take place. So, naturally, the more the days dragged on and the longer Lyla trudged through Mirkwood, the more nauseated she felt. Her palms were sweaty, and her stomach clenched painfully. The air was stuffy, animals nonexistent, and always the whispering hiss hummed in the darkness. This was nothing like the Shire. There was something dark and sinister living here. She could feel the taint in the trees, in the earth, everywhere. 

And it frightened her.

She craved the sunlight and the flowers. She craved the fresh air and the peace of birdsong.

She hated this.

She hated how the trees—once a beautiful edifice for her—were crowding her, caging her in, their dark wood only managing to push her into a haze of confusion. She never had felt claustrophobic before. But now? Now, her heart hammered at the closeness of the trees. She was so jumbled, mixed up, confused and flustered. And she could no longer tell between night and day.

And the eyes, staring unflinchingly at her within the darkest reaches of the forest, made her skin crawl. She wanted something, anything to distract her from those relentless orbs, gazing predatorily in the darkness. But they could not start a fire. Kindling was scarce along the path, the living trees too tough to cut, and the first night they had managed to ignite a small flame, enormous moths, the size of Lyla’s hands, swarmed the company, sending the dwarves and their hobbit burglar into confusion. 

They were forced to remain in darkness as a result. 

Gloin, determined to keep the company’s spirits up, took the time to spin elaborate tales of the Elves that ruled the forestlands here in the East.  
“There’s a witch they say,” he began, his voice soothing and riveting all at once. “An elf witch who rules the forests of Lothlorien. Travelers say that she will ensnare you with her beauty. They say that all who look upon her fall under her spell and that she knows their thoughts for she has been gifted with a rare talent.”  
Most of the company had snorted at that, as they all slowly sank to the ground. 

“What a load of rubbish,” Dwalin had grumbled, gruffly. “What an absurd notion to believe. I thought ye had more sense than that Master Gloin.”

Bofur and Dwalin would not let her quake in the dark however. They remained near her side almost constantly. And when they could not, Fili and Kili usually found a spot next to her. Usually Bofur’s arm found its way around her shoulder as he tucked her into his side, shielding her from the darkness. 

“It’ll be alright lass,” He murmured, placing his hat on her head, “Just breathe. Things will be right as rain soon. Ye’ll see.”

And then he started humming, low and comforting.

A smile spread on Lyla’s face as she recognized the tune.

“I do believe,” she murmured, closing her eyes, “That you need my dishes to sing that song.” 

Bofur chuckled, “Aye lassie, that we do. Can’t sing about what Bilbo Baggins ‘ates without tossing a few plates about.”

He continued to hum, lowly, other members of the company joining in.

*****  
Lyla jerked awake, her heart hammering in her chest as she tried to bury the images that surfaced every time she closed her eyes.

Snow-covered hills.

Wolves, howling and snapping at her heels as she ran from her Uncle’s smial. 

Her father’s still form.

Her mother’s stricken eyes.

Her brother’s defeated gaze.

Azog smiling wickedly down at her, teeth bared.

The sword descending 

Thorin’s bruised, still face…

No.

A shiver ran down her spin. Between the darkness of her dreams and the reality she was stumbling through, her body and mind felt weary. 

“You need to eat something,” Thorin’s voice was next to her ear, making her jump lightly.

“I’m fine,” she murmured in reply, careful to avoid raising her voice. She didn’t want to wake Fili or Kili, who were nestled on her other side. 

Thorin snorted, “You haven’t eaten in quite some time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you rejecting your ration. I thought hobbits were supposed to love food.”

Lyla sniffed clearly affronted, “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself thank you.”

“Indeed.” Thorin replied drily, “However, that’s not the issue. Something’s bothering you, Mistress Baggins. I’m no stranger to disturbing dreams.” 

Lyla didn’t say anything.

“Eating will help settle your nerves Lyla,” Thorin murmured. His hands curled around her own, his fingers calloused and warm. He placed a small morsel of food in her palm. “If you won’t tell me what’s bothering you, eat something at least.” 

Lyla nodded into the darkness, confused by Thorin’s bizarre actions.

The next day, she learned, the food was gone.

“But I’m hungry!” Bombur grumbled as they marched, single file, through the overgrown path, the low hanging branches making Lyla feel particularly small. 

“We’re all hungry,” Dori grumbled, “As it is we’ve got nothin’ to feed ourselves, so there’s no point in complainin’ about it.”

The reprimand silenced the round dwarf. 

For a little while at least. 

But soon enough, a low murmur of annoyance was winding through the company. And it wasn’t just Bombur complaining about the lack of supplies anymore, though Lyla, for her part, remained silent, her hand grasping the morsel of food Thorin had given her. 

She couldn’t bring herself to eat it.

She didn’t think her stomach could handle it.

Instead, she decided to hide it away, determined to give it to someone more deserving of the nourishment.

Her fingers brushed against cool metal as she dropped the food into her pocket and for a moment she forgot just where she had acquired this particular piece of jewelry.  
Unbidden, the hissing voice returned to her ears, as her fingers closed around the metal ring, urging her to put on the ring and whispering that all her worries and troubles would end. 

‘It’ll be so easy,’ the voice crooned, ‘So simple.’

A jolt ran up her arm and immediately she dropped the ring back in her pocket and tried to dispel the thoughts. 

The low hissing noise came back, reverberating in her ears and she swayed.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, steadying her. “Ye alright there lass?” Dwalin asked, concern lacing his gruff timbre.

“Fine,” she gasped lightly, “I’m fine.”  
*****  
That night (as far as they could tell anyway), with empty bellies and exhausted feet, the dwarves and their hobbit hunkered down to get some rest. 

Thorin, normally riveted by the strange, looming eyes, listened in the darkness, as the breathing of his companions gradually evened out and slowed. 

All except for one that is.

The Half…Lyla was still awake. He could hear the rustle of Dwalin’s overly large cloak as she twisted and turned her body, undoubtedly trying to get comfortable. 

A soft sigh escaped her lips and in Thoirn’s mind’s eye, he could imagine her face, pulled into a frown, a pout playing on her raspberry colored lips, the soft tendrils of her curls falling into her eyes, her nose wrinkled in annoyance...

Thorin dismissed the thought immediately. 

Rubbish.

But he knew that the Hobbit’s dreams were bothering her. Despite her claim that she was ‘fine’. He watched the way her steps were growing more and more unsteady. He noted the bags under her hazel eyes growing ever larger, marring her pale skin. And he knew she wasn’t eating. She’d hardly eaten a bite since they entered the forest. 

He knew the forest was bothering her, creating a deep unease. Even he felt exposed and uncomfortable within the confines of this stifling forest prison, his dreams often marred by images of the forest around him. But he had a sneaking suspicion for the main cause of the hobbit’s unsettled sleeping patterns.

And the thought made him furious and a little guilt-ridden.

He listened to the Halfling twisting and sighing, trying to get comfortable and he let out a soft snort.

Oh yes, she was ‘fine’ indeed. 

*****

“We have to eat something Uncle!” Fili’s voice broke through Lyla’s musings and she turned her head to see the young blonde dwarf leaning against his brother, his face ashen. “We have to have something in our stomachs. We can’t keep any sort of pace up for much longer.”

The forest had jumbled up all concept of time, and the days blended together into an endless sea of confusion and walking. Lyla wasn’t sure how long they’d gone without food, but by the way most of the company was standing, hunched in on themselves, eyes dulled and listless, she knew it must have been a long time indeed. 

She turned back to see Thorin nodding his head in agreement, though his eyes were conflicted. 

“We were instructed not to stray from the path,” Thorin muttered, scanning the trees. The trees that remained utterly devoid of signs of life.

“But there has to be something out there that we can eat!” Kili exclaimed releasing his brother and, with shaking hands, drawing his bow forth. “I can go out and scout around for something.”

“Absolutely not,” Thorin admonished, his eyes narrowing on his nephew, “I’ll not send you on a fool’s errand Kili.”

“But-“

“That’s final!” Thorin roared throwing a glare Kili’s way, “I’ve heard enough of this discussion. We remain on the path. Period. Now move on.”

Lyla sighed as the company grumbled and groaned. They had to do something. 

But they couldn’t stray from the path? 

Perhaps if…

Oh but Thorin would be angry…

She didn’t bother to think on it too much. 

Instead, Lyla leapt forth and grasped the lowest hanging branch of the nearest oak tree and hoisted herself up.

‘Let him be angry’ she thought.

“Oi! Hobbi!” Oin hollered, “What are ye doing?!”

“Lyla!” Bofur exclaimed worriedly, “Where do ye think yer going?”

“To get a better look,” she huffed, pulling herself upwards, higher and higher into the tree as the dwarves cried for her to stop. 

“Halfling!” Thorin thundered, “Get down here! We have to stay on the path.”

“Technically I’m still on the path.” Lyla grumbled, ignoring the king’s command, “And if I can get a better look, perhaps we can find some way to get some food.”

She thought she heard the word 'impertinent' escape Thorin's lips.

Slowly she moved upward, into the topmost portion of the trees, hoisting herself between branches. Higher and higher. Sunlight started to peek through the thinning branch overgrowth. 

Lyla’s spirits lifted and she quickened her ascent. 

Finally, her head broke through the leaves and branches and she could feel the radiant sunshine on her skin, warming her cheeks and sending a smile to her lips.  
She took lungfuls of the cool fresh air surrounding hr and marveled at the large colony of butterflies fluttering into the sky. 

“Beautiful” she whispered, gazing around. And for the first timein many days, her heart felt peaceful.

“Hobbit!” Someone was calling below her, “What do you see?”

Oh ! That’s right…

Lyla scanned the tree line in the direction of their current course. And at first her heard sank. There were trees everywhere. Nothing but dark congested, suffocating trees, obscuring her view and hiding the layout of the forest path. In fact, she couldn’t even see where the forest ended! 

Despair filled her.

But then, her eyes caught a glint. Just a sliver of shimmering color. 

“Water!” She shouted, “I see water ahead of us. There must be a river!” 

A low, excited murmur swept through the group.

“Hurry back down, Halfing,” Thorin’s voice floated upwards, “We need to get moving if there’s water.” 

The excited murmur grew in volume and with one last long gulp of fresh air, and a longing look up at the sky, Lyla ducked her head back into the forest and slowly started to descend. 

Apparently, however, she wasn’t fast enough.

“There have to be fish in that water!” Bombur exclaimed, his voice eager and desperate. 

“Wait! Bombur, don’t go off on yer own!” Bofur shouted for his brother, and Lyla heard footfalls rapidly growing softer.

She concentrated on getting down from the tree, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, her hands reaching for sturdy branches.

She was halfway down the tree, when she saw it. A dark, shapeless shadow darted from the thick of the forest, straight towards, her a high pitched shriek escaping its massive form as it winglessly muttered through the trees. Lyla reeled back in surprise, a startled cry escaping her lips.

The branch in her hand snapped.

She went tumbling to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of another slow chapter...and a bit of a disjointed one as well. And I confess that was sort of my intention. The way I think of Mirkwood is like a disjointed confusing reality that leaves you wondering just what exactly is going on. I hope I caught that in this chapter. 
> 
> But I'd love to hear your opinions, concerns, critiques, everything! Feel free to sound off in the comments. :)
> 
> And if you haven't checked out LuckyHai5's story 'Good Morning' go take a peek! It's great. Truly.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	23. Follow the Butterflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirkwood has some most unsavory creatures interested in the company...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Here's another chapter for you. And believe me when I say that this chapter was a massively complicated one to write. I actually had to split it up. It really turned into a much MUCH larger chapter than I anticipated. But that gives me more to post. And, hopefully, what I've posted today is a pleasant read for you. 
> 
> and like I've been doing for the last several chapters, here's one of the songs that inspired this chapter.
> 
> http://youtu.be/VcnzqKpFZ0I

With a low ‘oomph’ Lyla landed on something sturdy. Something Solid.

“Confound it all Halfling,” Thorin muttered, pushing her off him gently as he struggled to his feet, “What happened?”

“Slipped,” she murmured distractedly, gazing upward into the tangled web of tree branches above her. Her hands were shaking, her heart racing. The shrieking noise that…thing...made was still ringing in her ears.

“Halfling.”

What on this good earth WAS that? What had she just seen?

“Lyla.”

Had she imagined it?

Thorin grasped Lyla’s chin, turning her face towards him, as he kneeled next to her, his eyes narrowed and assessing. “Are you alright?” He questioned, his blue eyes searching her face.

Lyla’s heart rate spiked at the contact.

“Fine,” She murmured, “I’m fine.” 

Thorin’s narrowed gaze remained on her as he released his hold on her. Clearly, he didn’t believe her. 

“Here Mistress Boggins,” Kili was by her side bright toothy smile on his face as he offered his arm to her, “Let me help you.”

Lyla nodded, but retorted, “It’s Baggins Kili, not Boggins, and if it’s all the same to you can you NOT call me Mistress anything anymore? I feel terribly old when you do that.”

Fili and Kili both laughed laughed as the younger dwarf wrapped his arm underneath her own and hoisted the flustered hobbit to her feet. “Alright then, no Mistress Boggins from here on out.” He gave her a wink.

Lyla gave a grumble of agreement as she stumbled forward, trying to dispel the dizziness from the fall. Kili’s grip was firm on her arms and she gave him an appreciative look.

“Where are the others?” she queried, brushing off her coat, and plucking leaves from her hair. Only Fili, Kili, Thorin Dwalin and Balin had remained behind. Surely they had not ALL taken off down the path?

“Took off down the path after Bombur,” Balin remarked with a low sigh. 

Apparently they HAD.

“Aye, that dolt just couldn’t be patient,” Dwalin snorted, his eyes sweeping over Lyla’s face in a careful manner. “And if yer done climbing about like some wild animal, I think it best if we catch up to that lot before they do something completely reckless, aye?”

Lyla would have been offended by Dwalin’s gruffness, if the dwarf had not given her a grin and a clap on the shoulder as he walked by.  
She felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little at the familiarity and friendliness of Dwalin’s company and snorted at his comment (appreciative of it and annoyed all at once).

Wild animal indeed!  
*****  
It took several minutes, of blindly following the overgrown and gloomy path in search of her companions, before Lyla could hear the snatches of conversation from the missing company members.

“Can you see any-“

“A boat on the other side-“

“Where are-“

“Look! I see-“

“Bombur don’t!”

A loud chorus of yells and a louder splash echoing into the silent air had Lyla and the others scrambling forward, towards the rest of the company. As they crested a small overgrown hill and Lyla and the others came upon a startling sight. Bombur had fallen into the water. Why wasn’t he moving? 

“What’s going on?!” Thorin shouted sauntering forward, “Get him out of that water! Why’s he unconscious?” 

“Don’t rightly know,” Bofur grunted in annoyance, hat askew, as he stood on the steep, muddy riverbank and hefted his brother’s beefy leg upwards, “The big lummox fell in and…well that was that.”

Dori, Bifur and Nori also grabbed onto the plump dwarf (or the parts that weren’t resting in the water) and slowly dragged the snoring dwarf to shore. 

Thorin swore as he hovered over Bombur, trying to rouse the sleeping mass. He tried nudging the dwarf’s shoulders. He ventured a quick, light slap on the cheek.  
And then a harder slap.

Nothing worked.

“Come on wake up!” Thorin growled finally shaking Bombur’s forcefully. The red bearded dwarf’s head lolled to the side as he snored on, oblivious to the world around him.  
Thorin swore again and then sighed pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Did he hit his head?” He wondered aloud, as Oin came forward and knelt close to Bombur, peering at the dwarf curiously, his wizened eyes, eagle sharp and scrupulously attentive to detailing every aspect of Bombur’s condition.

“It’s not likely,” Oin remarked, inspecting Bombur, “I find no wound. There’d be a wound if he did hit something.”

“Will he be alright?” Bofur exclaimed sitting next to his red-headed brother.

Oin sighed, “Aye. As far as I can tell, he’s only sleeping. Though I can’t figure out WHY.”

‘If it’s not a head wound then what…?’

Lyla turned towards the river, and leaned as close as she dare, carefully inspecting the water. If it wasn’t a hit to head, perhaps something in the water was affecting Bombur.  
The more she gazed at the rushing river, the more she was convinced of that likelihood. 

Unlike the tall, dark trees with looming branches and dingy moss, the water that meandered through the path, was crisp and clear, devoid of debris, mud, or unsavory animals. She couldn’t even spot a fish. It was a startling contrast to the surrounding landscape. 

Too startling.

“The water. There has to be something wrong with the water,” She remarked, turning towards Bofur and Thorin and gazing at Bombur.

Groans resounded through the company.

“This accursed forest will be the death of us!” Dwalin growled, “If the water’s a danger, then how’re we to get across?”

And what of Bombur? How were they to get Bombur across the river? Surely they wouldn’t just leave him.

“There’s a boat tethered to the other side of the bank,” Ori remarked in a quiet whisper pointing to a small grey boat bouncing lightly against the bank across from them, “Perhaps we can cross that way?”

“And how are we to get that boat if we cannot touch the water?” Dori remarked in a huff, “Do YOU dare risk going into that river?”

Ori swallowed nervously, eyeing the water with trepidation, and shook his head. 

“If I can get an anchor over there,” Fili remarked attaching one of the ropes in his pack to a small axe, “maybe we can ferry the boat back to us,” 

“What do you think—Uncle?” Kili’s voice held confusion. 

Lyla turned from the river in surprise at Kili’s tone and looked back towards Thorin curiously.

Only to meet empty space.

Here eyes widened in shock. Where on earth…?

“Uncle?” Kili called again, abandoning his spot near Fili by the riverbank, and searching the area.

“Thorin?!” Dwalin shouted catching Kili’s panicked gaze, “Thorin!”

They received no reply. 

Where had that blasted dwarf gone?!

“What do we do now?” Dori huffed, gazing at Dwalin expectantly.

Dwalin turned, eyes narrowed as he peered into the dark forest, searching for any sign of their leader.

“Get the boat, and start getting the company across. I’ll go look for Thorin.”

“You can’t go alone!” Balin admonished, white brows knit together in worry, “We need to stay together. That’s the best chance we have.”

“We can’t very well leave him,” Dwalin hissed at his brother, a dark scowl on his face, “And we can’t leave that dimwitted sleeping beauty to fend for himself.” He jerked his thumb towards Bombur. 

“That’s a suicide mission,” Balin remarked.

“Do ye have a better idea then?!” Dwalin retorted quickly losing his patience, “We can’t just leave Thorin out here alone.”

“I’ll come with you.” Lyla remarked, stepping up to Dwalin. Several members of the company protested.

"Are ye mad lass?" Bofur groaned.

The warrior dwarf eyed her with a raised brow, “Aye lass, I thank ye, but I’ll refuse that offer.”

Lyla narrowed her eyes at Dwalin, “I wasn’t asking or offering,” she retorted face turned upwards to gaze into Dwalin’s eyes. “I was informing you.”

Dwalin grumbled something foreign to Lyla’s ears as he rubbed a thick calloused hand over his face. “Aye but yer a stubborn lass.”

“Indeed.” 

Dwalin rolled his eyes and turned to the rest of the company, who stood or sat, staring at Dwalin with mixtures of confusion, trepidation and unabashed curiosity. “Oi the rest of you lot,” he growled, “get that boat and start ferrying people across. And for Mahal’s sake be careful!” He turned to Lyla still eyeing her questioningly, “Come on then lass.”  
Lyla hesitated a moment before stepping off the path and following after Dwalin. Her feet stung as they tromped through raw, infected wilderness of undergrowth and roots. 

They walked into the trees, until Lyla could no longer hear or see the company.

“Thorin!” Dwalin shouted stamping a path through the bushes and bracken, “Thorin!”

No reply.

Dwalin swore lowly and gazed around in annoyance. 

“Blast this forsaken forest,” he muttered, “He couldn’t have gotten far.” 

He continued to stomp through the forest, calling for his leader and friend.

Lyla remained several feet behind, quiet, gazing around nervously. She kept hearing tapping noises overhead, yet she could see nothing in the gloom above her. She felt more vulnerable and exposed now that they had stepped away from the path and her heart beat itself into a panic as she imagined how Thorin must be feeling, alone, possibly lost.

Was he afraid? 

But she couldn’t figure out WHY he’d leave the path in the first place. He’d been so adamant about his nephew not abandoning the path, why would he?  
Nothing was making any sense.

But then…then she noticed something. Something in the trees that had her stomach coiling in dread.

‘By Aule no. Please no.”

“Dwalin!” She hissed, pulling her gaze away from the branches above her, “I think we might-“

Her words caught in her throat.

She was alone. 

She strained her ears, listening for any familiar gruff grumbles

“Dwalin?!” She shouted, “Where are you?” 

No reply. 

“Dwalin!”

Lyla cast a glance upward again and sighed, piecing things together.

“Bother” 

She took off sprinting back towards the rest of the company. She’d need their help to get this all sorted out. As she broke through the tree line, however, her heart plummeted.  
The trees near the river were covered in silky veils of white gossamer thread, draped like white blankets.

And, just like Dwalin and Thorin, the rest of the company was missing. The boat, gently beating against the near shore, Fili’s rope and anchor lying forgotten on the ground.  
She let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Why?” She whispered in defeat, “Why couldn’t it have been something else. Anything else.”

She gazed at the trees, noting a distinct pathway created by the thin white draping on the trees overhead. 

Well at least she had a path to follow.

“Why?” she muttered again in annoyance, “Why couldn’t it have been follow the butterflies? No instead I get spiders. Damn spiders!” 

She stepped closer to the edge of the water, gazing upward, noting the path moved through the trees above the water and into the darkness on the other side. She could use the boat or perhaps she could climb across…

A sharp stabbing sensation pierced her back and Lyla’s vision spun, a deep drowsiness overtaking her. She knew what had happened as she sank dazedly to the ground, the colors of the forest around her bleeding into one another, making her stomach roll. Her arms felt heavy, numb, and her throat felt tight, her breathing labored.

“Damn,” she muttered again as a dark, blurry shadow, loomed over her.  
*****  
She awoke sluggishly, to the sensation of something slimy being wrapped around her legs. Thin . Blearily, her eyes opened, and she was greeted with a massive, dark shape in front of her. 

Oh!

She jerked her legs away and gave a shriek as her vision swam into focus. 

A massive spider stood over her, its long black legs caging her in, as it worked to wrap her in its webbing. Sensing that its prey was alert, the spider hissed at Lyla and tried to pin her to the ground 

She scrambled to get away from the large pinching grasp, twisting her legs to wiggle them free from the webbing, but they wouldn’t budge. The thick substance clung to her legs like tree sap. 

The spider hissed again and lunged for her it's jowls snapping. 

Thankfully, her arms were still unbound and she scrambled for her sword, drawing it forth as the large foul mouth of the spider bore down on her, snapping and spitting in her face. 

By sheer dumb luck, her sword imbedded itself into one of the massive eyes of the horrid creature, with a loud ‘squelch’. The spider’s long, spindly legs buckled and it collapsed slowly, the large head landing on top of her, knocking the wind from Lyla’s lungs.

The putrid smell of the spider’s blood filled Lyla’s nostrils and she gagged as she twisted and wiggled her way from beneath the carcass . Taking her sword, she quickly, sliced through the webbing around her legs, and scrambled to her feet, stumbled backwards, her arms and legs shaking. 

She hated spiders. 

Fortunately she was alone. 

Unfortunately, as she gazed around her, she knew that wouldn’t last. She was surrounded by webbing. It covered the ground she was standing on and wound upwards into the trees, high above her head. 

She squinted at a spot in uppermost reaches of a pair of trees 

Several solid masses, wrapped in white, were wiggling bundled together like eggs in a nest.

A spider's nest that is. 

Could it be? 

“It had better be!” she huffed.

Quickly she sheathed her sword and scrambled to the lowest branch she could find, shuffling past the massive spider’s legs, a shiver running down her spine. 

She prayed that it was the company (the entire company) up the tree. 

And she prayed she could get them down before any other unsavory creatures returned. 

Grasping firmly onto the branch, she hoisted herself up, and scaled the tree, snorting derisively at the situation she found herself in.

“And he said I was the one to cause delays. Ha.” She grumbled, shooting wary glances downward in case any more spiders returned from…wherever they were off to. 

The higher she climbed closer to the bundled masses, the more she recognized that they were indeed creatures trapped as she had been (well, FAR more trapped than she had been). They struggled and murmured, twisting and desperately trying to break from their web cocoons. 

She hastened her pace, and after what felt like an eternity, she reached the bundled creatures that were trussed up on a lower branch. Hesitantly, she unsheathed her sword and carefully cut away at the webbing where she heard muffled noises of protest. 

She really, REALLY hoped these weren’t orcs or goblins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well what did you think? Sound off below! 
> 
> And check out LuckyHai5's story 'Good Morning' it's amazing :)
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	24. That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla REALLY hates spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys! You are amazing! Thank you for the love and the reviews and just all the great feedback! I'm glad you are enjoying this fic! It's certainly grown in size hasn't it?! Goodness...
> 
> Anyway, here's the second part to the massive chapter I posted yesterday. 
> 
> WARNING: depictions of violent arachnid death...seriously I hated writing this part. It made my stomach roll just rereading it....
> 
> Here's the music that inspired this chapter if you care to listen (And yes I'm a geek...I admit it): 
> 
> http://youtu.be/05XBQv0dUkA
> 
> http://youtu.be/ktvTqknDobU

“Master Baggins!” Nori’s face appeared beneath the webbing she removed, a relieved smile lighting his features. “You truly are a burglar and how I thank Mahal for that! How on earth did you get past the spiders?”

"I didn't," Lyla snorted as she worked to get some of the webbing off the squirming bundle next to Nori, "Not really. I just got lucky that there was only one skittering around.”

Nori chuckled, “Well whatever happened, I’m much obliged to you.” 

“Master Baggins!” Gloin’s face held utter relief as Lyla removed the sticky substance from the dwarf’s eyes, nose and mouth, “I’m mighty glad to see you lass.” 

“Yes well, let’s be mighty glad when we’re all safely away from this place.” She smiled kindly at Gloin, “I’ll help you get free and then we’ll get the rest of the company down, yes?”

“That’d be a lovely treat, that would,” Gloin agreed heartily returning the smile “And here I thought that women were bad luck on journeys. Seems we can’t survive without you lassie.”

Lyla felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "Yes well..." She trailed off flippantly, but nodded her head and started to carefully cut away at the sticky fibers surrounding the ginger dwarf, mindful of his long bushy beard. She knew dwarves were…particular about their hair. Thankfully, though, she made quick work of the webbing. In a few short minutes she’s made it past Gloin’s neck and shoulders and was close to freeing his arms.

However, she should have been more observant.

She really, really should have.

“Master Baggins!” Nori shouted as a something large and painfully solid connected with Lyla’s back, knocking her off balance, sending her tumbling from the branch. With a grunt she connected with one of the lower lying branches, scrambling to keep her hold on the rough bark, her sword nearly slipping from her grasp. 

She hazarded a glance upward and saw, unsurprisingly, a massive spider, standing guard over the web-bound company, its massive jowls snapping, its legs clicking against the wood as it slowly advanced towards her, its numerous round dark eyes staring her down, challenging her. 

Her eye twitched in annoyance and trepidation.

She had to do something. She had to get that massive, hairy brute away from the company. 

“Gloin!” She shouted, jumping carefully down to a lower branch, “try and get free and help get the others down if you—“

Another knock from a giant leg, sent the air from her lungs and her sword tumbling from her hands as Gloin and Nori’s voices shouted her name in alarm.

Bebother it all! 

Now what?

She jumped to another branch, swinging downward. She had to get to the ground. She had to get her sword back. 

She was dead if she didn’t

She stopped for a moment and gazed upward again and let out a groan of annoyance. The spider wasn’t just guarding its prey anymore. Its long spindly legs were skittering down the tree at an alarmingly rapid rate, its giant pincer-mouth snapping and spitting at her. 

It was coming for her. 

“Splendid” she muttered darkly. 

She ducked as the spider tried to strike her again, and felt the air ‘whoosh’ above her head as the massive leg connected with the tree bark, sending splinters flying.

She hazarded jumping down the last fifteen feet, landing with a soft tucked roll, grabbing her sword just as the giant hissing spider leapt down nearly on top of her. One of its legs pinned Dwalin's cloak to the ground as it loomed over her, saliva dripping in her face. She struggled to get the clasps undone. 

Its stinger shot towards her chest, trying to immobilize her and Lyla let out a shriek as the clasps finally snapped open and she scurried away. She shot to her feet and ducked and tumbled sideways, as the spider tried to impale her again, and nearly lost her balance. She brought her sword up and slashed at one of the massive legs that surrounded her. 

The spider hissed, its stance buckling on one side as Lyla rolled to her feet and slashed at another leg, severing the massive appendage in half.

The spider shrieked and snapped towards Lyla, but it could no longer stand. With heart pounding, Lyla turned and, using the spider’s crippled legs as leverage, hopped up onto the beast’s back, driving her little stinging sword into the spider’s rounded black body. 

The spider shuddered as warm sticky liquid deserted its body, pooling around Lyla’s feet and slithered slowly down, splashing to the floor. A low hiss escaped its mouth and then silence and stillness followed.

Lyla was panting, her ears ringing. But a morbid satisfaction pulsed through her veins as she gazed at the carnage her little sword had inflicted. 

She was capable. 

She could defend herself. 

Then her sensitive ears picked up the sounds of rapid clicking and she turned to see four other spiders darting towards her, snapping, hissing beady eyes trained on one lone little hobbit standing atop a dead spider. 

She let out a groan.

She took it back.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t defend herself. 

She was going to die. 

“Of all the blasted rotten luck,” She grumbled, “Give me a dragon any day. Any day at all.”

With a terrified yell, Lyla hopped down from the spider carcass and darted into the trees, the hissing from the giant monsters getting ever louder. She had to hide. But she couldn’t just leave the company to be sucked dry by those rabid, spitting hideous things!

But what could she do? 

Her foot connected with a large root and Lyla tumbled to the ground, her sword clattering at her side. Her hands scrambled to heave her upwards.

Then déjà vu struck Lyla and a memory surfaced. 

A cave. 

A slimy, wide-eyed creature.

And a ring!

She slipped the ring from her pocket, tossing Thorin’s food to the side, and slid the thick gold band on her finger. Instantly her world dimmed and muted in color, as a haze settled in the corners of her vision. 

But her head started pounding and the rolling in her stomach increased ten-fold. And the growling she’d heard when they’d first entered the forest, echoed in her head.

She didn’t like wearing this ring. 

Not one bit.

But as the spiders descended around her, searching for the murdering culprit of their kin, Lyla ignored the adverse effects of the golden band and thanked the powers above that she was invisible. 

She didn’t fancy being spider food thank you very much. 

Lyla lay as still as possible, clenching her fists in panic, her heart hammering, as she tried to make her breathing shallow and silent. Warily she watched the spiders scuttle about, hissing and snapping, their legs clicking and clacking against trees and the hard ground.

But the spiders found nothing, and their shrieking cries filled the air as they darted through their webbed clearing in search of Lyla. She let out a low sigh of relief as the massive creatures moved further and further from her resting spot. 

But the relief soon turned to horror as she noticed that the spiders’ renewed interest in their food.  
In the company. 

“Blast” she muttered, slowly rising to her feet and walking as silent as possible towards the spiders, two of which were slowly climbing up the trees surrounding the webbed company. 

She had to do something. 

“HEY!” She shouted, making her voice as loud as possible, “HEY you monstrous, ugly beasts!” 

The spiders stopped their ascent and gazed around, their eyes sweeping over where Lyla stood. 

An idea sparked in her brain. And being invisible held great advantage for her.

She started to whistle lowly, the notes carrying over into the trees even as she charged at one of the spiders waiting on the ground, her sword thrust outward. She sliced at the creature’s leg and it went stumbling with a low hiss its round body suddenly unsteady and awkward.

The spiders in the trees had reversed their movements and were now scurrying down the trees once more in search of the attacker. 

Lyla continued to whistle, a familiar tune that would have had her laughing at any other time, as she sliced into the other grounded spider’s legs, hacking one clean off and severing another. Warm blood washed over her hands and she resisted the urge to gag at the putrid smell. 

Then, with quick movements, she leapt into the trees, as the other two spiders reached the ground, searching frantically for her, hissing and spitting all the while.

She kept whistling as she climbed the tree leading to the company. She spotted Gloin nearly free and Nori struggling to get at his hands out of their bonds. 

With quick, precise movements, she sliced at Nori’s bonds much to the thief’s surprise.

“What is Mahal’s name…?” he muttered stunned.

“Get free and help the others!” She hissed at the surprised dwarf.

Nori just nodded dumbly, his eyes darting around in search of the hobbit, but finding nothing but empty space. 

“How did you…”

“Just get free!” She hissed again.

And then she was jumping back down, towards the spiders, her whistling getting louder. 

The two spiders she’d struck in the legs were struggling to stand, their legs shaking and buckling from the weight they tried to place on it. 

Lyla leapt on the closest one and buried her sword in the massive hairy creature’s back, cutting through its shell with a low cracking noise. Blood oozed forth and the great spider stiffened and then tipped sideways, its legs curling, a low growl escaping its mouth. 

Then Lyla was back to the other spider and with rushed movements, she was sawing at the rest of the creature's legs, making the beast hiss and groan in agony. The spider stumbled to the ground and struggled to rise, even as she struck it’s mouth with her blade, stilling its movements. 

Two down. 

But Lyla gaze around in confusion. Where were the other…

She looked upwards and swore. The other two spiders were scurrying back up the tree towards the company members. 

“Dammit.”

She darted after them, leaping into the tree and scrambling up the branches as quickly as her feet would carry her. 

She noted that Nori and Gloin were both free and were working on getting some of the other members down from their perches. 

“Watch out!” She cried, trying to quicken her pace without losing her balance. 

Nori turned in time to see one of the spiders, throw its leg outward, hoping to knock dwarf down. But with blindingly fast movements, the thief had one of his knives out and had nicked the spider’s long pointed leg. 

The creature hissed and retreated a few paces, as Nori took over guarding Gloin who was hacking furiously at the webbing around Bifur. 

Lyla heaved herself up to a standing position just below the other spider and with a sweeping motion brought her sword around to slice at the spider’s legs.

The massive body tumble sideways as the creature lost its balance. It scrambled with a shriek to gain purchase on the branches. But Lyla wouldn’t let it. Bring her sword upward again, she hacked at the two legs just above her head, severing them at the joints. 

The spider tumbled from the tree and with a loud squelching crash, hit the ground below.

Lyla turned her attention back towards Nori who had managed a few solid hits to the spider’s legs. She could see dark stick, foul smelling blood staining the bark. She leapt to a closer branch and pulled herself upwards until she was standing parallel to the massive spider’s torso. 

“I really hate spiders,” She muttered with a deep scowl and buried her sword into the creature’s soft underbelly. 

The spider’s legs curled, it’s eyes instantly dimming as blood trickled downward coating her sword and hands and running like a river down the bark of the tree. The creature stilled and then tipped backwards, its body falling through the branches, and too the forest floor below. 

Lyla stood panting, hands shaking, and her stomach rolling from the stench she was now coated in. 

“Remind me,” Nori muttered gazing around in confusion, “To never get on your bad side little hobbit.”

Lyla chuckled and sheathed her sword, prepared to remove her ring. 

But the sound of horns had her stilling for a moment.

She gazed downward.

Four tall figures had charged into the clearing their low murmurs lost to Lyla's ears. But she could recognize their features even from this distance. 

“Elves.” She whispered.

They couldn't be worse than spiders. Could they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah sorry about this chapter...Is it as cringe-worthy as the last chapter? Ugh this chapter really just made my dreams terrible last night...
> 
> But on a more pleasant and ironic note, this is the song that Lyla was whistling: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/o5MwScwGass
> 
> Anyway! Let me know what you think!
> 
> And check out Luckyhai5's work 'Good Morning'-It's an awesome, engaging and terribly addicting AU Fem!Bilbo fic.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> Also go take a peek at this great AU crossover fic by chappysmom called 'There And Back'- It's amazing!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	25. Enemy Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company encounters elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here's another chapter for you! It feels like a transition one to me. And it's a bit of an easier read than the last one I think. Not as gut-wrenching and whatnot...
> 
> I hope you enjoy! And thank you for all the feedback! It's certainly appreciated. 
> 
> Here's the song for this chapter if you're interested:
> 
> http://youtu.be/JjFCMNQkyJE

A low groan passed by Thorin’s lips as he came back to consciousness. He tried to will his sluggish mind to work through the haze he was under, but it was a slow-going process.

What had happened?

The last thing he remembered was the company preparing to anchor the boat and tug it across the river. 

And then the light. He’d seen a light in the distance. 

After that though? 

Thorin drew a blank. He simply could not process things after that point, no matter how hard he pushed himself.

It was utterly frustrating. 

He brought his hand up to his face. 

Or tried to at least. It appeared that his hands were bound in what felt like rope. 

He then tried to open his eyes, only to be met with darkness. 

Soft fabric had been placed on his face, obscuring his view. 

And, he noted, he was laying on piled straw. 

He could hear the soft drips of water running down stone. The air was cool and musty. 

Confound it all where was he?!

“Welcome, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin Stiffened. 

*****  
A sense of unease settled in Lyla’s stomach and she hesitated to take her ring off. 

There was something…offsetting about the elves below her though she couldn’t place WHY she felt uncomfortable. The elves at Rivendell had been hospitable and friendly.  
But these elves set her on edge.

She wanted to get a better look. 

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured to Nori and Gloin who’d gone still watching the elves below them with trepidation. 

She checked the tie of her scabbard and then slowly maneuvered down to the lower branches, trying to remain as silent as possible. She noted that more elves had come into the area, numbering more than a dozen now, each stood tall and slender, their long hair swaying around their shoulders as they moved. Each wore green or grey tunics and they were speaking in a hurried manner, their tones too low for her make out. 

She lowered herself closer. 

And nearly went tumbling as an arrow whizzed past her ear. Letting out a terrified squeak, she pressed herself flush against the tree and gazed downwards. A tall elf, with long blonde hair and grey armor stood, staring at the tree, his bow out and an arrow poised to fire. His eyes were sweeping over the tree, flicking through the branches searching for movement.

He’d shot an arrow at her!

His eyes narrowed and he slowly lowered his bow and murmured something to one of his companions nearby, his had rising up to point to the top of the tree. Towards the company. 

She pressed herself against the trunk of the tree as two elves ascended the tree towards the struggling company. She did not trust these elves. Especially now that she’d almost been impaled by an arrow.

So she remained hidden, wary of what would happen to the company.

Nori and Gloin—who had freed themselves—balanced on the branch their knives drawn and furious scowls on their faces. 

The first elf, the tall blonde male who’d fired the arrow, approached slowly, eyes narrowed as he assessed the fury in the two freed dwarves’ faces. 

“I think it best if you relinquish your weapons,” he remarked, his lilting voice quiet and disturbingly calm.

Lyla could hear the power behind his words. 

Nori snorted condescendingly, “Why would I want to do that elf?”

“Because I will strike you where you stand if you do not dwarf.” 

Lyla turned her head upwards in surprise and found a tall red haired elf maiden standing high above Nori and Gloin, bow pulled taut and an arrow aimed at the ready. 

Her green eyes flashed dangerously. “Do not think I won’t kill you.”

Nori’s face betrayed his surprise at being caught unaware. His eyes narrowed and a deep expulsion of breath escaped his lips. He muttered something low and foreign to Lyla’s ears.

She assumed it wasn’t something overly kind.

But Nori knew when he’d been beaten. So in defeat, he lowered his weapon and raised his hands in surrender. 

*****  
Lyla was still perched in the tree, watching as more than twelve elves worked to get her company down from the trees. Bombur, who was still unconscious, proved rather difficult to safely deposit on the ground. 

Her heart nearly shattered in horror when two dark haired elves nearly dropped the giant, round, snoring creature.

But somehow, the spritely creatures managed to get twelve bundles down to the ground.

‘Where was Thorin?’ she wondered in a panic. Even Dwalin was within the group. But Thorin? That blasted, arrogant dwarf was still missing. 

And as for the rest? 

The poor dears. 

The dwarves were surprised to find their rescuers were elves.

As each member was released from their webbed prisons, they gazed up in shock and alarm at the elves that loomed over them, carefully peeling away the remnants of the spiders’ attacks.

They were even more surprised to find themselves freed from one binding and placed into another. 

“Oi what’s the meanin’ of this!” Bofur exclaimed trying to extract himself from the grip of two dark-haird elf men, only to have a small knife pointed at his throat in order to silence his protests. 

The blonde dwarf that had first addressed Nori stepped forward, his eyes narrowed, and a deep frown on his face as his hand rested lightly on the sword around his waist.  
“You have been caught trespassing on the king’s land. He’s requested your presence and an explanation of what has transpired since your initial entrance into Mirkwood.”

One by one the dwarves’ hands were bound, blindfolds placed over their eyes and they were positioned in a single file line with elves standing on either side of them, the tall blonde who she’d first seen, stood at the head of the party, his finely made armor betraying his elevated social status.

‘Obviously the leader’ she thought quietly watching the way the elf moved as if he was a part of his surroundings. She envied his natural grace.

Another four elves made up the rear, hefting the snoring Bombur in their arms. Lyla silently sniggered at their predicament.

Imagine if she and the rest of the company had to haul the sleep dwarf for miles! 

Her ears perked up and she could hear the low mutters of disgust emanating from their lips as they strained to keep up the grueling pace.

Her face pulled into a frown.

“Fat load of rubbish,” One blonde haired elf muttered, rolling his eyes in annoyance, “Not worth the effort it will take to carry him back.”

Lyla’s blood boiled. 

How dare they!

A low growl escaped her lips and she grabbed at the thinner branches of the tree, breaking off a small twig. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the twig soaring through the air, knocking into one of the rude dwarves carrying her unconscious friend. 

The elf stiffened and stopped moving. He turned his head back, eyes narrowed, searching.

But, of course, he found nothing. The elf’s face contorted into confusion and he muttered lowly, turning forward once more.

Lyla grinned as she hopped from her station in the branches wary of any loose leaves or grass. 

Served him right. 

She followed silently behind the elves and their dwarf captives as the elves marched the dwarves at a rapid pace, wary of her surroundings and fearful that she’d lose her company for a second time. 

But the further they moved from the spider’s nest, the worse Lyla was feeling. Adrenaline was wearing off, and with renewed force, the nausea was returning. Her head was pounding and she longed to take the ring off and to leave this accursed forest. 

Above all that, however, she really really wanted a bath. The putrid smell emanating from her close made her nose wrinkle with each inhale of breath. It was a wonder that the elves didn’t suspect they were being followed because of the smell she exuded. 

Oh what she wouldn’t give for her bathtub at home with nice steaming water, a warm cup of tea and her favorite robe.

She could certainly sneak away, being invisible as she was, and just return…

‘Why care about them?’ A voice in the back of her mind hissed at her, ‘They didn’t want you in the first palce. Just leave them. They don’t matter. Take care of yourself.’

But if she did that, she’d never see her dwarves again. 

Lyla frowned and shook her head. Why would she think that at all? She cared about the dwarves! 

She couldn’t allow anything to happen to them. And as it was, she was the only one capable of actually helping them. She could remain unseen. 

She was their best chance. 

‘Come on Lyla’ she reprimanded herself silently, ‘It isn’t as bad as you make it. You can do this. Chin up, feet forward. That’s the ticket.’

She straightened her coat (already mourning the warmth Dwalin’s cloak had provided her) and silently traipsed after the company and their guards wary not to get too far behind or too close to be trampled on.

How alarmed would the elves be to discover an invisible creature following them!

They marched onward for a good while, and with each step, the dwarves (and Lyla) were wearing down to the point of stumbling and nearly knocking each other over. 

Some of the elves sniggered at the company’s obvious exhaustion. 

Lyla was really beginning to hate these particular elves and she glared at each one who dared to open their mouths in derision against her dwarves. They were nothing like the elves found in Rivendell and she wondered how they could be so unkind, so calloused towards those who were obviously suffering.

But her anger was lost and replaced by shock and stunned appreciation as they rounded the bend and started their descent into a deep cavernous valley. And then she saw it. 

Oh…

Her mouth fell open in wonderment, her breath catching in her throat. 

She stood before an enormous cave that spanned higher than she could have ever imagined. Intricately carved stone doors stood before her, depicting the changing of the seasons with elvish scrawl engraved above and below the images. Just outside these stone doors, water flowed freely, weaving in and out through the trees, it’s clear water inviting and enticing Lyla. The pathway was lined with bright beech trees, that stood proudly reaching for the sky. 

The elves marched the company one by one down the steep path and over the bridge to the entrance and its enormous doors. 

Surely they could not open such a massive door with so few men?

To her surprise, the gates swung open of their own accord and a tall slender elf man stepped forward, dressed in a rich silver(that even Lyla could see with her muted vision) robes and his brow was crowned in a headdress of thin delicate branches and summer flowers. His blue eyes swept over the group in a condescending manner as he regarded the blindfolded company. His lips pulled into morbid, almost resigned, smile (though the company couldn’t see it). 

“Welcome, company of Thorin Oakenshield, to the great elf kingdom of Mirkwood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think about the elves so far? I promise in the next chapter we'll really do some exploring of characters, but I thought this chapter served as a good introduction to whet your appetites. :)
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> And check out Luckyhai5's fic 'Good Morning' because it's amazing and engaging and simply wonderful! 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And go take a peek at chappysmom's fic 'There and Back' It's amazing!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	26. The Fury of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tempest of emotions brew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little thank you to all you lovely reviewers, kudo givers, favoriters, bookmarkers, everything. You guys make me incredibly happy. I am constantly astonished. So thank you!
> 
> I hope this chapter is up to par. I'm coming down with something awful again. Migraine, sore throat, the works. Which is unsurprising considering I was around a large amount of family who were dealing with illness last week. But I wanted to get this chapter out there before I tried to get some sleep. So I hope you enjoy it at the very least. 
> 
> And here's the music that inspired this chapter. 
> 
> http://youtu.be/cbWIXdW1zlE

Lyla ghosted behind the group slow and silent, as the dwarves were marched through the massive doors following the path of the elf with the headdress, along a large walkway and past a large ornate iron portcullis, that reminded her of the branches of the beech trees outside, winding around itself in an intricate and deceptively delicate pattern.

Said portcullis slammed shut as Lyla walked past, startling the invisible hobbit who barely avoided being crushed, and a massive ‘whoosh’ of air blasted around Lyla at the force of the impact. She turned to find the large stone doors sealed shut as well.

She—and the rest of the company—were well and truly trapped inside the Elven halls. 

Bother it all.

And, while that information certainly filled her with a sense of trepidation and foreboding, her astonishment grew as she took in her surroundings.

As she followed after the company, Lyla noted the polished walkways, arches and pillars of stone carved with detailed attention, making the stone appear very much like a forest of tall, proud trees undisturbed by time. Winding around these stone walkways and pillars, that stretched outward and upward in every direction, were large roots from the trees above this cavernous home, weaving through the space, connecting the stone and wood together in one harmonious combination of delicacy and power. Lyla noted many smaller beech trees dispersed throughout the hillsides within the Elven halls, as well as the pure and delicate waterfalls and rivers that flowed on either side of her and far beneath the stone and wood bridges. 

She inhaled the fresh air gratefully (and quietly) and marveled at the small snatches of sunlight streaming through the ceiling of intertwined branches and stone that encapsulated the entire Elven settlement together. The unease she felt walking through the filth of Mirkwood slowly seeped from her pores, relieving her spirit and lifting her heart even as her throat burned with desire to quench her thirst in the crystal streams she spied.

The elves lead (and carried, for Bombur was still unconscious) their captives upward to a large stone platform atop of which sat an impressive wooden throne, adorned with enormous antlers on either side of the chair and long thin branches that twisted upwards. Leaves and white blossoms surrounded the entire structure, like a halo of earthen paradise, as soft light cast an ethereal glow around the Elf, who had greeted them at the door, and now stood and faced the company.

“It has been many years,” The stoic elf murmured interlocking his long pale fingers together, “since I entertained the company of the dwarves.”  
Narrowed sapphire eyes swept over the blinded dwarves slowly as he studied the pitiful shape her company was in. The elf’s gaze settled on Balin’s form at the front of the line and with a nod of his head, the red haired elf woman removed Balin’s blindfold.

“Tell me,” the elf at the doors remarked lowly, gazing at Balin’s bruised and wearied face, “What are you doing in these parts of my kingdom?”

Familiarity sparked in Balin’s eyes as he gazed at the stoic creature before him, but the wizened dwarf said nothing, his lips remaining thin and pursed. 

The Elvenking (for that is what he must be Lyla thought) tilted his head to the side, his gaze going thoughtful. He stepped forward a few paces. His gaze shifted until he was staring down his nose at Balin, a look of suspicion clouding his fair features.

“You refuse to explain why you’ve trespassed on my land? You refuse to oblige me this courtesy? Why? What have you to hide I wonder.”

Balin still said nothing, though a scowl appeared on his face. 

His response was clear, even without any words. 

The elf king snorted, “You value your pride over comfort and safety I see. Very well,” He turned to the golden haired dwarf who’d nearly struck Lyla from the tree (and she noted how similar they looked), “Escort our ‘guests’ to their chambers, Legolas, if you will,” he murmured dismissively, his eyes hardened and he turned sharply on his heel and ascended to his throne.

The elf, Legolas, bowed his head quickly and then hastily retied the blindfold over Balin’s eyes. With a quick jerk of his head, and silent as the grave, he urged the line of dwarves to start forward again, and through the enormous doors. 

Lyla pressed herself against one of the closest pillars and waited until the company had passed by. She didn’t want to expose herself by bumping into someone or something. She was determined to follow after her dwarves. 

But the king’s next word stopped her in her tracks.

“Bring me Master Oakenshield.”

*****

“On your feet, dwarf.” 

Someone was pulling Thorin up from his straw bed, making him stumble blindly, fumbling to find his balance even with his hands bound.

He was pulled roughly by his wrists, and prodded forward with a hard jab to his back, making him grunt in pain.

*****

Lyla’s heart caught in her throat has she watched Thorin Oakenshield paraded before her. Four different elves flanked either side of the dwarf, their weapons creating a carefully constructed cage as the dwarf king was being led up to the throne, bound and blindfolded, angry red welts on his wrists, hair in disarray with straw sticking in his long ebony tendrils. 

Anger boiled hot in Lyla’s veins as one of the elves shoved Thorin until the dwarf stumbled forward to his knees before the throne where the elf king was perched. 

Soft sniggers escaped the two dark-haired guards who had escorted Thorin from wherever they had been keeping him. They smiled wickedly at one another, their features contorted in a angry, gleeful sneers.

Lyla’s hands balled into fists and her eyes narrowed.

Those dirty rotten…!

“Where does your journey end I wonder,” The king murmured as the blindfold was removed from Thorin’s eyes.

The dwarf king stared contemptuously back at the elf king, his eyes blazing.

“You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule,” The king continued on, as he rose to his feet and slowly stepped forward, towards Thorin’s silent form, his eyes narrowed, “The quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. Is this not why you have come?”

Thorin remained stoic and silent, his eye betraying nothing. 

“Speak dwarf. Why have you trespassed into my kingdom?”

Thorin raised his chin defiantly, eyes glittering with fury. 

And remained silent. 

The cracking of a pale hand against flesh sent Lyla reeling in horror. The elf king’s eyes blazed as he stood mere steps from Thorin, his hand raised, poised to strike the dwarf again, and a deep frown set on his face.

A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop herself and a few of the guards’ eyes shifted in surprise as they searched for the source of the noise. For it did not come from their dwarf captive. 

He remained silent, though his eyes said more than enough. 

Murderous rage swam beneath the blue orbs of Thorin Oakenshield’s eyes.

“You try my patience Master Oakenshield,” The elf king whispered dangerously his face mere inches from Thorin’s, “Think ye that I am a mere simple fool? I know what you hunt. I know what it is you seek.”

The king turned away from Thorin and paced back to his throne, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Then you know why I seek what I seek,” Thorin’s deep voice carried far, even as he whispered the words, fury laced with each syllable. 

“You are filled with revenge and anger and you bring a great evil with you,” The elf king remarked, his face pulled into a frown. “This will only lead to your downfall. And Erebor will remain a lost cause.”

Thorin visibly bristled at that remark and his eyes narrowed as he slowly rose to his feet to face the elf king. 

“You know nothing of the suffering of my people. You know nothing of dragon fire and sorrow. The vengeance I feel is justified, Thranduil of the woodland realm.”

And suddenly the elf king, Thranduil, was next to Thorin, inches from the dwarf’s face once more. “Do not speak to me of dragon fire,” The elf hissed, contempt written on his face, “I know its wrath and I have seen sorrow. Do not pretend that your plight is the only one deserving of pity.” 

Thorin raised his chin in defiance and glared back at Thranduil’s tall, slender form hovering before him. 

He had retreated to silence once more. 

“You cannot pursue such a foolish mission,” Thranduil’s voice had gone soft. Dangerously soft.

“You cannot prevent me from securing my homeland,” Thorin spat, “And what care do you hold for the dwarves anyway? You abandoned us in our hour of need.”

Thorin said nothing, but his sight remained on Thranduil, commanding the elf’s attention.

Lyla could hear the raw pain in his voice at the memory he’d just conjured.

The dwarves had been abandoned by the elves? 

But why?

Thranduil’s eyes flashed dangerously his brows knitting together in a deep seeded anger that made Lyla shudder. “Do not spew your petty judgment at me! I would not risk my kin against the wroth of that dragon. I had to protect my own. I abandoned no one.” And then Thranduil reclined into his throne, his fingers curving around the arms rests tightly. He scoffed, “And it is not you that I claim to worry over. There are others in Middle Earth affected by an angered dragon. Do not forget Dale and all those innocents lost. There are many who would be affected by your hasty foolishness.”

Thranduil leaned forward, his anger replaced by a deep curiosity. “Tell me how your actions will secure anything if that beast is released? How will you manage to ensure the safety of the men of Laketown? Of the elves within my woodland realm? Will they only be casualties for the greater good in your eyes?”

Thorin glared contemptuously back at Thranduil.

Lyla silently commended him for his stubbornness, even as she contemplated Thranduil’s questions. How were they to protect innocent people against a dragon? Certainly Thorin had considered this. 

Right?

“As it is,” Thranduil continued flippantly, “I cannot allow your journey to continue until some sense has entered that head of yours.”

Lyla’s eyes narrowed in fury at the king’s hasty ruling. How dare he!

“You cannot keep me here!” Thorin uttered viciously pulling at his bonds only to be physically restrained by the elf guardsmen surrounding him. 

Thranduil scoffed again, “I can do whatever pleases me against those who trespass on my land.” 

The elf king waved his hand dismissively to one of the guards. “Take him back down. I can see this is a waste of time. Perhaps the darkness will open his eyes.”

Lyla watched, with fury coursing through her veins, as the blindfold was tied once more across Thorin’s eyes. The dwarf didn’t protest as he was dragged forcefully away. And she would have followed after him, had not the elf Legolas and the red-haired female he’d been with earlier blocked her path.

Oh confusticate it all! 

Bebother all of them!

The two elves paused at the bottom of the throne and bowed their head in respect. 

Lyla fisted her hand in her mouth to keep from snorting in contempt. This king deserved no respect. 

Not from Lyla at least. 

She scowled at the haughty king.

“Tell me what troubles you. I sense your unease.” Thranduil murmured, gazing off to his right. His eyes were sweeping over the room thoughtfully. And then he stopped, and narrowed his sapphire orbs. 

Right where Lyla stood.

She took a step back, out of reflex, finding security (even while invisible) behind the pillar, creating a barrier between herself and the piercing blue gaze of the elf king. Did he suspect her presence? 

Surely not.

Right?

“The dwarves are secure,” Legolas remarked, his head still bowed in deference to Thranduil’s superior status. Then he hesitated, “However, something…unusual has happened.”

Thranduil’s gaze flicked to the blonde dwarf and his red-haired companion in surprise.

“Tell me.”

Legolas’ face took on a thoughtful appearance as he turned his gaze up to the elf king who stood, expectantly before him.

“The spiders,” He murmured, “They were dead when we came upon the company of dwarves and yet the dwarves were bound in the trees.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, and Lyla sucked in her breath.

Waiting.

“It would appear,” He muttered, “that the dwarves have a hidden ally. Double the guards if you must and set the watch to patrol the area to find this hidden…creature.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? A lot of elf/dwarf interactions. I'm curious to see your reactions to Thranduil. He's a complex character that's for sure. Let me know what you think!
> 
> And check out Luckyhai5's story 'Good Morning' it's an amazing and powerful story: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And of course take a peek at chappysmom's fic 'There and Back' a unique AU crossover that will leave you spellbound:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	27. A Plea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between the crushing heat here, and being miserably ill I've had ample time to write. Fear not, however, I'm taking your suggestions. I've got peppermint tea and vitamin D and C in my system. 
> 
> And thank you for the positive reviews, the kudos and all the support. You are so wonderful. And I hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> Here's the music for this chapter. I highly suggest listening to it to get a feel for the emotions I'm trying to convey:
> 
> http://youtu.be/o7De42gw0jc

Lyla didn’t dare move from her hiding spot near the pillar. Not for quite some time. 

Even after Legolas and the red-haired elf retreated from their position in front of the throne to carry out their king’s command for reinforced patrols. 

Even after the elf king himself retreated down a long winding corridor, shooting a suspicious glance at the pillar where Lyla stood invisible, his lips pursed and brows knit in contemplation. 

She didn’t dare move. 

She hardly dared to breathe. 

How did he possibly suspect her to be standing there? How could he have know? 

She was invisible. 

Right?

But she knew that Thranduil KNEW there was something lurking in the shadows. It was almost as though he could sense it, and she half wondered if the elves would go to so much trouble if they knew that it was a simple little hobbit they were trying to capture. 

But, mostly, Lyla wanted to groan in frustration. She held her tongue, however, as paranoia swept over her. She didn’t know who was watching, or listening.  
Slowly and silently, she sank to the ground and cradled her head in her hands in frustration.

What was she to do? It was obvious that she needed to help the company. She was the only one who really could. But, how were they to escape with doubled patrols?   
Not to mention the fact that she didn’t even know where her friends were being held. 

‘It’s a lost cause’ the sinister voice in the back of her mind whispered, ‘You can’t save them. Why bother trying? It’s a fool’s mission.’

‘But if I don’t help them, then they’ll remain here. They’ll never recover their home. They’ll never truly be happy.’

‘You aren’t even a dwarf.’ The menacing voice retorted, ‘You don’t owe anyone anything. You aren’t really a member of this company.’

No.

No, that was not true.

She WAS a member of this company. 

Her gaze hardened and she forcibly pushed those negative thoughts from her mind.

And as Bofur had said, ‘being a part of this company made you as good as family.’

It wasn’t a lost cause. They’d made it this far. They’d escaped from trolls, fought wargs, orcs, spiders, hunger and fatigue. 

They could get out of this too. 

They had to.

She’d make sure of it. 

Somehow.

She hoped.

*****

Thorin Oakenshield sat rubbing his wrists gently, contempt written on his face as he glared out his cell door. 

Oh how he despised the elves

They had no right to keep him from his quest. They had no right to try and stop him. It was his homeland! His heritage, his life. He could do what he wished. 

He understood the risks involved with trying to retake the mountain and the possible danger to others. He’d weighed the options. He’s stewed over the possible outcomes.   
But he still knew that his quest was right. That he was right. 

However, another concern gnawed at him. 

Where was his company? Had Thranduil’s men captured them as well? What had happened to his nephews? Or Dwalin? If he had harmed ANY of his company in any way…! 

His thoughts turned to a small creature with a mop of blonde curls and impossibly large hazel eyes.

He could have sworn that he’d heard Lyla’s gasp of surprise as he knelt before Thranduil, when the elf had slapped him out of anger. 

He was certain it had been HER voice that had filtered through the air. 

But, that was impossible. Lyla hadn’t been in that room. There had been no one there besides himself and that nasty, filthy…

Thorin sighed and rubbed his abused wrists again. 

Mahal help him, he must be going crazy.

*****

Lyla’s paranoia made quick work of dispelling her awe and reverence for the elven kingdom’s startlingly beautiful architecture. Too consumed with being caught, Lyla remained bound by the ring’s power (subjected to the sinister whispers it seemed to produce), wandering silently through the long winding halls and ducking into alcoves at the slightest hint of movement, all the while searching the impossibly large settlement for signs of her friends. She’d attempted listening for information about the dwarves, but the elves were never too keen on gossiping in public, preferring instead, to walk silently, stoically to their destinations. 

She’d then tried to follow some of the many patrols around in hopes of getting a glimpse of where her friends might be held. But again this proved fruitless. There were so many different groups of guards patrolling, making it impossible to keep track of some of their routes. Often she wound up lost down one of the many corridors found in this kingdom and then she’d be forced to wait until another group of elves meandered by before she could find her way back to the main floor. 

The anxiety and exhaustion wearing at her bones made the picturesque archways, waterfalls, and intertwining roots and rocks start to turn Lyla’s stomach sour with contempt.   
This fortress home had become nothing more than a prison, a magnificent prison, but a prison nonetheless. It was no longer a refuge from the disease of the forest. 

Lyla felt as suffocated now as she did wandering down the path through the darkened trees. 

And as the days passed on in this gloom, Lyla’s spirit drooped further and further and she began to despair that she’d never find her friends. 

And the voice in the back of her mind grew ever louder, making her heart feel like a lead weight in her chest, as it became harder and harder to ignore the gloom and depression the voice instilled in her. 

‘You’ll never succeed.’

‘This is a fool’s errand.’

‘They don’t care for you.’

‘It’s a lost cause.’

‘You’re a failure. You’ll never be able to save them.’

She truly hated the ring even as she relied on its power to protect her. 

The only thing Lyla DID manage to find that brought her any comfort were the pantries stocked with food. And though she didn’t dare take much to silence the pangs of hunger in her stomach, she did find a small respite for her weary legs beneath the lowest shell tucked behind a barrel of apples. The smells of the apples, freshly baked breads, ale, and grains reminded Lyla of home and brought a small sense of peace to her aching heart. 

However, it also brought more anguish. The warmth and comforting smells she sought in the pantry drudged up the memories of all the things she missed. She missed her little house beneath the hill with its garden of flowers and vegetables. She missed the warmth of the fire in her heart as she sat in her good chair with a warm cup of tea, wrapped in her favorite robe. She certainly missed her bed with its crisp clean linens and getting a decent night’s sleep without gruesome images haunting her dreams.

But, mostly, she missed the company of rowdy dwarves who’d brought a new sense of purpose to her life, who made her life brighter. The same dwarves, who were crude and calloused and dense and arrogant, and who pulled her from her lonely isolation. 

The dwarves who gave her the chance to have a family again. 

She missed Bofur’s cheerful face comforting smile and his warm embrace, Dwalin’s stern glower but kind eyes, Ori’s shy blushing face, Oin and Gloin’s arguments, Dori’s mothering harassment of his brothers, Nori’s sly smirking face as he pilfered something from one of the packs. She missed Bombur’s stew and his enthusiasm about food and Bifur’s wild gestures and quizzical stare and Balin’s fatherly kindness. 

And she even missed Thorin, with his richly colored hair, brilliant blue eyes, his calloused hands grasping her chin, his soft murmurs in that rich timbre of his voice…

And as she curled in on herself, tucking her knees to her chest, behind the large barrel of apples, she felt each sting of longing, each barb of fear and sadness wearing at her exhausted soul and she allowed herself to do something he hadn’t permitted this entire journey. 

She let the salty tears slip down her cheeks as silent sobs wracked her body.

‘Oh Aule please help me find them. Please. I beg you…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well what do you think? I'd love to hear your feedback, opinions, thoughts, rants, everything. Feel free to share. 
> 
> And take a gander at Luckyhai5's work 'Good Morning' it's great!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270?view_full_work=true
> 
> Also take a peek at Chappysmom's work 'There and Back' it's a fun AU crossover that you'll enjoy:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517?view_full_work=true


	28. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old faces in darkened places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well thank you for the response I've received thus far with the last chapter. I know I posted it just a short while ago, but I've been writing like crazy while cooped up here at home with my box of tissues and whatnot, so I'm actually posting another chapter. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> And here's the music for the chapter if you're interested: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/dZE-OsqT8XU

_Lyla knew she was dreaming. She knew it. But, for the moment the fear she felt was so palpable she couldn’t breathe._  
 _Wherever she looked, she was surrounded by white. Crisp, clean, bitterly cold white. In the distance she could just make out small shapes slowly advancing dark and light shadows with black eyes._  
 _And then the howling reached her ears and she shuddered. She had to get away._  
 _She tried to run, but her feet wouldn’t move._  
 _And the shadows were getting ever closer, their growls filling her ears._  
 _Wolves._  
 _‘You’re a fool’ a sinister voice hissed in her ear as she stumbled backwards falling to her rear, a strangled cry caught in her lips, ‘I told you that you’d fail.’_  
 _One of the wolves, a giant, white monstrous beast, prowled around her, sniffing and growling, preparing to pounce._  
 _She let out a shriek as the creature launched itself into the air towards her._  
 _But then it shifted and was no longer a wolf._  
 _Instead, Azog was on top of her, spitting in her face, suffocating her._  
 _She couldn’t breathe._  
 _She couldn’t breathe!_  
 _His laughter filled her ears as he spewed insults at her_  
 _‘Worthless Halfling.’_  
 _She struggled, twisting her body, trying to get away. But the giant orc had her pinned. She couldn’t move._  
 _She was trapped.She closed her eyes, afraid to see the distorted face of the pale orc above her._  
 _She was dying._  
 _‘Stay away from my daughter!’_  
 _Lyla’s eyes shot open. How in this great earth…_  
 _Mother?_  
 _Azog’s weight disappeared, his face melted into a blur of colors. She could breathe again._  
 _And suddenly Lyla was back home, sitting near her little fire, wrapped in her old tattered blanket as she rested her head in her mother’s lap.The tears fell freely and she felt so content, so at peace. How did she…?_  
 _‘Do not cry my little flower.’ Belladonna murmured running her hair through Lyla’s thick blonde curls._  
 _‘How did you? Where’s Azog-‘_  
 _Belladonna placed two fingers to her daughters lips, as her deep chestnut curls bounced lightly. ‘Don’t you worry about him dear. I’ll not let him touch you, my brave little flower.’_  
 _And the tears returned as she hugged her mother close, the soft murmurs of comfort reverberating in her ears as thin fingers twisted in her hair. Oh how she wanted this to be real, even for a moment. To be back in her mother's arms, to feel her warm embrace..._  
 _‘Hush don’t you cry. I’m here my sweet darling. It’s alright. You’ll be alright I’m here. I’m always here…’_

******  
Lyla rubbed her eyes groggily, smearing the remnants of her tears from her face as she shifted her legs to a more comfortable position and blinked back to wakefulness.  
She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, though she was grateful for the small mercy.

Her mother’s voice was still ringing in her ears and she could almost feel the soft warm caress of her mother’s fingers running through her dirty, matted curls. It had been quite some time since Lyla had dreamt of her mother like that. It brought her a sense of comfort to remember a happier time. 

But the feeling didn’t last too long.

Soft laughter filtered into her little hiding spot and Lyla’s mind shot to high alert, waking her up fully and nearly causing her to bash her head on the shelf above her in surprise. 

Out of reflex, her muscles tensed and she sat a little straighter, evening out her breathing, her ears straining to tune into the conversation above her.

A few elves were in the pantry, their light laughter echoing louder. This was the first time she'd heard anything other than a disappointed comment or a soft whisper escape one of these creatures!

“I’ve never seen him so flustered,” one of the elves whispered lowly. Lyla hazarded a peek around the edge of the barrel and noted that there were only two elves standing in front of the shelf she was currently hiding beneath. 

They were FAR too close to her hiding spot for comfort, even with her invisibility. She scuttled backwards and tucked her legs to her chest again, wrapping her shaking arms around herself. She fancied that if she made herself small enough, she’d feel more comfort. 

“That’s true enough,” the other elf whispered, cheerfully and conspiratorially, “All this time of living in isolation and suddenly the kingdom is converged upon by all kinds of ‘guests’” he sneered the last word. 

Both the elves laughed again but Lyla’s heart was fluttering in excitement.

They were talking about the company! This was the first time she’d heard anything about them since their initial meeting with Thranduil.

She wanted to giggle in excitement, but held her tongue.

‘You’ll be alright.’ Her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

“You know he tried questioning some of the others this morning? Ha! That lot spewed so much filth back at the king even I was blushing in embarrassment! I thought for certain he’d have their heads for it.”

Lyla felt a small surge of satisfaction at that knowledge. It served that idiot elf king right harassing her dwarves like that! 

“Well it’s no better than when he questioned that Oakenshield fellow earlier. The gammy dwarf remained completely silent. Refused to even acknowledge the king was there.”

The second elf snorted, “I don’t understand WHY he’s put up with them for this long. They’ve trespassed. They should be punished, not fed from our stocks. And with the fat one awake now, our supplies will be depleted in short order. ”

Bombur! He was awake! 

Lyla let out a silent breath as a small smile rose on her lips.

“Indeed.” The first elf remarked dryly, “But he’s still after whatever it was that dispatched those spiders. Can’t figure out where the creature might be and the only ones who may have any information are the dwarves. He’s no other choice.”

Lyla’s heart stuttered. 

Thranduil was still looking for her. 

And the dwarves were protecting her from him. 

She felt so…

Wanted. 

Cared for. 

Loved. 

A warmth spread through her chest and flowed through her arms and legs. 

‘Thank you, Aule. Thank you. Thank you.’ She murmured silently as she stumbled after the two elves, nearly knocking her barrel of apples over in her haste to catch up. 

‘And thank you mother.’

*****  
It made sense now, after following the two guards, why she couldn’t locate the dwarves before.

Not twenty feet from the kitchen, the two elves, laden with a large tray of food, ducked to their left and disappeared. For a moment, Lyla thought they had disappeared into the wall. 

Panic started to well in her once more and she started to doubt herself.

Were they ghosts? Illusions?

Had she only imagined them?

But when she inspected the wall, she spotted a small opening that lead downwards, into the dark, her heart dropped to her stomach in relief. 

A secret passageway was tucked away into a small alcove not visible from the main portion of the hallway. 

Of course. 

She sighed in annoyance. Why couldn’t she have figured that out?

Hesitantly Lyla stepped into the archway and slowly shuffled down the staircase, wary of any missteps in the dim light. 

The further down she got, however, the more her confidence grew. Each step became more firm, more assured because she could hear voices chattering away. 

‘It could be a trap’ the voice in her head whispered, ‘You’re a fool for going down here.’

No. She shook her head. She could hear voices.

And not just any voices. 

Voices she recognized. 

Her dwarves. 

She could hear her dwarves!

“Oi ye droning dizzy-eyed clotpole!" Bofur’s voice rang out, “Is that all we’re to expect of the hospitality of the Elves? Some stale bread?”  
She nearly burst into tears hearing Bofur’s insults. She didn’t care what he said, so long as she could just hear his voice!

“You should be grateful that you’re being fed at all,” one of the elves, at slender brown-haired fellow, snapped as Lyla rounded the last step and walked into the little block of cells. 

Even in the dim light, she could make our three cells with two dwarves inside each. Dori and Bofur were in the cell closest to the door. The hatted dwarf sat with his arms wrapped around the bars of the cell, a cheeky grin on his face as he taunted the two elf guards who were doling out rations of bread and water, though his eyes were hardened in a cold stare, betraying his fury and deep seeded contempt.

“Aye ye think this lot’d know what courtesy is?” Nori retorted from the cell across Bofur’ s. He and Balin occupied this cell. “They think that flat stale bread IS good food! These lumpish hedge-born foot-lickers wouldn’t know good food if it bit ‘em on their dainty little hands. Too busy prettying their hair and lookin’ like little lasses to be concerned with proper food.”

Sniggers erupted

“You impertinent little,”

“Galion!” the other elf, a blonde fellow with large green eyes remarked, exasperatedly, “This is hardly helpful.”

The elf, Galion, sighed and snapped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing into a glare at Nori.

Lyla tried to hide her own snigger of amusement as relief washed over her. After all this time searching, she was in the midst of her company again. 

And oh how she needed their quick wit to cheer her up!

“Here,” Galion grumbled handing over a small plate to the third cell in the room.

“Aye,” Dwalin’s voice rumbled, though his face was hidden from Lyla’s view, “I’d thank ye for yer kindness, but…” 

The dwarf trailed off condescendingly. 

The elf ‘harrumphed’ indignantly and stuck his nose in the air slightly. 

“Sevig thû úan” he remarked snootily, wrinkling his nose in disgust “Do you ever bathe I wonder? You smell worse than a troll hoard.”

Dwalin snarled and Lyla could see his fingers reaching through the bar to grasp onto the elf’s jacket.

If the elf had been standing close enough to allow that to happen, that is. 

Lyla’s eyes narrowed in disgust. These elves were positively the worst creatures imaginable. She was appalled by their behavior.

Though, admittedly, her dwarves weren’t behaving much better.

But they had a good reason for their actions so she couldn’t fault them.

“Easy lad,” Bofur remarked cheekily, “He’s just upset ‘cause his tender little nose can’t handle the smell. His dainty little feelins are hurt is all. Don’t worry yer pretty little head there elf lass,” Bofur turned his attention to Galion crooning, “I’m sure ye’ll go and get yer perfume and pretty clothes and be right as rain and smelling oh so dainty again soon.”

More sniggers left the company’s mouths as Galion glowered. 

The other elf, wisely was remaining silent. 

“Come on,” Galion muttered to his tall blonde companion. 

But not before Bifur’s voice cut through the room.

“Khagam menu reliku pembu rukhas.”

Deep echoing laughter filled the air, and though Lyla wasn’t sure just what had been said, she knew that it was no compliment.

“Easy there cousin!” Bofur remarked, “Don’t want to go injruin’ their delicate feelings with that kind of talk! We are in the presence of ladies after all!”

Laughter followed the elf duo who slowly made their way further into the darkness.

And Lyla was hot on their heels, itching to talk to the company, but knowing that now was not the best time. She couldn’t risk rousing suspicion of her presence here. Especially since no one really knew she WAS here. Not even the dwarves. 

No, it would have to be enough for now to simply be in their presence, to listen to their breathing, to hear their voices. 

It was more than she’d experienced in quite some time. 

Slipping slowly past the iron bars and her caged companions, she followed behind the two elves who were muttering darkly in their native tongue. Lyla tried to match their stride so as not to set their suspicions on high alert if they heard anything. 

When they rounded another corner, Lyla saw three more cells, with six more dwarves. Her heard gave a little leap in relief. 

“Here,” Galion grumbled, his mood severely soured by his encounter with Bofur and Nori.

“What? More stale bread?” Bombur’s voice caught Lyla’s attention, “Can’t you ate least be a little more creative? Is this really all you know how to cook?”

“Be grateful you are getting anything you overgrown pig!” Galion snarled in reply. Bombur only laughed.

“Well it’s no wonder you’re so short tempered and can’t grow beards. You’re forced to eat this!” 

More sniggers erupted around the two elves.

“Galion,” the blonde elf warned, his eyes narrowed at his companion. 

Galion was visibly trying to restrain his temper from the insults he was enduring, though from Lyla’s perspective, it didn’t seem to be working too much. 

But the short-tempered brown-haired elf held his tongue as he handed Ori and Fili their rations.

When he got to Kili and Gloin, however, chaos erupted.

“You know,” Kili remarked, “It must be a sign of your stupidity being forced to serve us food. What? His highness could think of no other job for you?”

Galion bristled at the comment as he walked past to the next cell where he handed Oin and Ori their food. Ori, remained silent, eyes wide, as he took in the events around him. 

“Here, take this,” Galion muttered thrusting the bread and tankard of water forward.

“I can’t here what yer sayin’ laddie” Oin remarked casually, eyes fixed on Galion.

“Aye that’s right!” Kili remarked, “That’s only because he can’t hear Elvish stupidity.” 

Laughter erupted around Lyla as she watched Galion glower at Kili again, his teeth bared. 

“How dare you!” 

The elf stepped forward menacingly, as Kili leapt to his feet, a large smirk on his dirt smudged face.

“Galion stop!” The blonde elf commanded, “You are being utterly disgraceful. This certainly won’t help Lord Thranduil any.”

“But-“

“No. It’s enough. Calm yourself.” 

"Aye best take some advice from yer sister there, you cockered clapper-clawed barnacle," Gloin's lilting accent echoed around the group as the dwarf sat quite contentedly with his back leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his face even as his eyes were narrowed in a challenging gaze directed at Galion.

Kili sniggered, and even Ori hid a smirk in his sweatered arm as Galion stepped back and shot his own companion a glare.

“Now,” the blonde elf remarked, “Be of some use and got take the last rations to our other guest if you will.” 

Galion muttered under his breath but did as he was told and quietly shuffled away. 

But the blonde elf remained. 

And Lyla only hesitated a moment before she resigned herself to follow Galion down the hall, slowly slinking past the blonde elf who stood staring at each of the rest of her company members. 

She needed to see who this other ‘guest’ was and where they were being held.

Though she had a sneaking suspicion she knew just who it was. 

“Now, tell me what you know of this hidden creature that rescued you from the spiders,” the blonde elf’s voice echoed as she hesitantly made her way after Galion. 

Said elf was hastily walking down the darkening hall, his angry mutters filling her ears, making it easy to follow after him. The elf turned left and hurried down a small flight of stairs, into the ever increasing dark that forced Lyla to cling to the wall for safety. 

But, Galion’s mutters were enough to keep her following without fear of getting lost. 

Once at the bottom of the stairs, she noted the elf’s shadow disappearing to her right and she hastened her pace after him, barely avoiding a large dark puddle of water.  
She caught the glimmer of faint torchlight as she scurried after Galion and rounded the corner. She gave a soft gasp at what she was. 

Caged in a tiny cell, stripped of all his weaponry, his great coat, even his boots, sat Thorin Oakenshield. His hair was disheveled, his gaze vacant as the elf Galion approached him carefully.

“Here you are ‘you highness’” the elf sneered condescendingly, tossing the small plate of bread into the cell, and shoving the tankard of water in after.

Thorin said nothing, his face stone still, tilted downwards, staring at the ground in front of his feet. 

Galion scoffed. “You know, your companions could take some advice from your example,” the elf sniffed again (and Lyla rolled her eyes in annoyance at the gesture) as he wiped his hands together, “Nasty lot they are. Though I suppose we can’t have you teach them a thing or two about manners can we? They aren’t supposed to know you’re here.”

Lyla’s blood boiled and she glowered at the elf, a new hatred rising in her veins for this accursed kingdom, for the accursed, miserable creatures. 

She pressed herself against the cold stone wall as Galion sauntered past, a smug grin on his face. She fancied that he supposed he’d bested the dwarf king. 

She wanted very badly to trip the dimwitted git and send him sprawling. 

But she refrained.

Barely. 

She waited with baited breath for his footsteps to retreat down the hall and up the stairs. And even then she peeked her head around the corner to make sure she was well and truly alone before she turned back to the small cell tucked away in the darkest reaches of this forsaken kingdom. 

She approached slowly, taking in Thorin’s features. His posture was slumped his hand folded together. She noted the red welts on his wrists and the scratches on his arms. 

Thorin gave a low sigh and rubbed his eyes tiredly, his tangled ebony locks pooling around him like liquid obsidian.

“Mahal help me,” he muttered in a strained voice and then groaned and fisted his hand into his eyes, “Please.”

He sounded so…

Defeated.

Miserable. 

Lonely.

And her heart broke for him. Here she had fancied herself alone and miserable wandering the halls of Mirkwood. But Thorin? Thorin was trapped in utter darkness, alone, forsaken. So close to his companions, but unable to see them. So close to his homeland, but unable to reach it. 

Forever trapped from those things he loved. 

An ache settled in her chest as she thought of all the anguish he must feel. And she longed to comfort him. To assure him that everything would be alright. She longed to smooth the lines of worry on his brow.

Oh Thorin.

Thorin’s back went rigid and his head shot up, his blue eyes glittering in the dim lighting, betraying his surprise as he gazed around frantically, hands balled into fists.

“Lyla?” 

Oh! 

Had she spoken aloud?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think of this chapter? Sound off! I'd love to hear from you. It makes me feel oh so loved... :)
> 
> AndJust a quick little note for you in case you are interested. 
> 
> Galion's insult translates to something like 'You smell like a monster'
> 
> And Bifur's comment translates to something along the lines of 'Your parents populated an orkish village."
> 
> Just thought I'd share that with you. 
> 
> And as always I recommend taking a peek at Luckyhai5's fic 'Good Morning' because it's awesome
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> As well as take a gander at chappysmoms fic 'There and Back' you'll love it if you love Sherlock and Hobbits. Seriously.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	29. Fond Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla and Thorin...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for such a great response! You are all amazing amazing readers. I'm so...goodness...you guys are simply splendid and I am so humbled! Thank you all. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's sort of a part I to this major arc that we've entered into. I've split up a massive chapter. So be prepared...
> 
> And here's the song for this chapter. It really set the mood I think and I highly suggest listening to it to get an idea of the emotions I was trying to capture: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/j2Qs_ou9Cx4

Oh Mahal help him he was mad!   
Absolutely mad.   
He couldn’t have just heard…  
Could he?  
Thorin gazed around the dimly lit hallway searching for any sign, any sign at all that the hobbit was near. 

The air was as dank as ever, the lighting just as dim. And there was no spot in which she could hide, especially from him or the elves. There was absolutely no sign of the hobbit. 

Nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense.

Yes. He was absolutely mad. 

This forsaken little blackened pit beneath the cavernous hideout for the elves had clearly addled his brain. Now he was hallucinating and hearing voices. 

But not just any voice. 

It was the hobbit’s voice. Her light timbre laced with concern and compassion and even a hint of cheer, even in the gloomiest of moments. It matched her smile. It matched her   
golden curls. It matched her large hazel eyes framed by long dark lashes…

Thorin shook his head.

Yes, he was clearly going mad. 

But he couldn’t deny the relief and comfort hearing her voice brought him. 

Even if it wasn’t real. He was like a drowning man in need of something familiar.

So perhaps…just maybe…if he said her name again…

*****

“Lyla?” Thorin’s voice was hesitant, strained, as he spoke her name again. 

And then he shook his and muttered lowly, “Mahal what’s wrong with me?”

“Thorin,” Lyla breathed a quiet reply, a deep sense of relief igniting in her chest as the name passed through her lips.

It was familiar. Comforting. 

The dwarf king’s eyes widened in surprise as he gazed around.

Lyla almost giggled. She’d never caught the dwarf king off guard before. 

“Durin’s beard, it really WAS you. But, where are you? How did you…? You really are here, right?”

Oh. 

“Yes, yes of course,” she replied, “I am most certainly here.”

“HOW?” Thorin’s confusion was tangible as he ran a hand through the tangled mass of hair on his head, “How?”

Yes. 

Well…

About that…

How could she explain what she’d been doing? 

“It’s…complicated,” she finally whispered in reply, “I-I can’t really explain.” 

“Try.” Thorin’s voice was soft, but commanding. 

Lyla sighed. How could she explain this to him? Her magic little ring…

She suddenly felt a need to defend her little secret. There was something decidedly…uncomfortable about the little trinket firmly attached to her finger. And the lot had fallen to   
her. It was hers. Hers to protect. As were its secrets. This…thing seemed the type of article that needed to remain hidden away. Never spoken of. No one else needed that burden. Especially Thorin. He had more than enough to contend with. 

But perhaps…

Perhaps she could see him face-to-face, freed from the constraints of invisibility. 

“Is it-is it safe?” She cleared her throat, hesitatingly, “I mean will your guard becoming back any-any time soon?”

Thorin chuckled darkly, “That? You consider that…that-he is hardly a guard.” Lyla saw a small smile work its way onto Thorin’s lips, “More a drunkard with a short temper than anything. And he won’t be back until tomorrow with my ration, or to take me to ‘discuss’ business with his majesty. You’re quite safe.” 

Lyla nodded, though she knew Thorin couldn’t see it. Perhaps she could take the ring off for a few moments. 

Just a few moments. 

Taking a deep breath, she slowly pulled the thick band of gold from her finger.

*****

Thorin jerked backwards in surprise, a startled gasp escaping his lips, as the small hobbit suddenly appeared before him. 

Confusion clouded his thoughts. 

She had appeared out of thin air! 

How was that even possible?!

Durin’s beard, what on earth…?

“How did you-“ He started to demand…but then his voice halted and his eyes widened in surprise, “What happened to you?” He murmured quieter this time, taking in Lyla’s appearance.

He noted her sallow cheeks, and pale skin. Her large hazel eyes shone brightly (too brightly) even in the darkness, though they were marred by deep circles of exhaustion. Her cheeks and hair were matted with mud and muck. Her clothes that she’d borrowed from Dwalin, as he remembered, were far too large for her now, burying the hobbit in folds of   
dirty, tattered fabric. 

Then he spied the tear tracks that cut a path through all the filth.

And his stomach clenched painfully at the sight.

She looked positively pitiful. 

Miserable.

Exhausted. 

And for what? A rowdy bunch of dwarves trying to reclaim a mountain? 

She didn’t need to be here.

‘But she wanted to come,’ a voice (that sounded remarkable like Balin) murmured in his mind, ‘She wanted to be here with you. With the company.’

A small smile lit her features, and utter relief clouded her eyes. Thorin watched fascinated and worried as she sagged against the wall and slowly slid down. 

“Are you alright?” He hesitated as he spoke as he watched her eyes flutter lightly. Was she going to faint? 

He hoped not.

“Nothing. Fine. I’m-I’m fine.”

Thorin’s hands twitched as he watched her slowly slump down, a deep concern coursing through his bones. 

She was too thin, too frail. She needed to be taken care of.

But by who? 

Him? 

Absurd really. 

He couldn’t…he never had wanted to in the first place…

Right?

*****

“It’s such a comfort,” she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment, “to see the world clearly after so long. Such a relief.” 

It felt as though a dangerous, suffocating weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Lyla felt utterly light, carefree. 

For the moment at least. 

As she started breathing in the cool air, her muscles relaxing , the wheels in her head started turning. By Aule she’d made a promise to get the company out. And there was still so much to do. She needed to figure something out. 

She hazarded a glance at Thorin who was standing, his bare feet covered by the dirty straw in his cell. His eyes, that sparkled even more brightly without the haze of the ring to mar her vision, were hooded carefully observing her, never blinking. 

She quickly averted her gaze and forced her brain to focus on the tasks at hand.

She’d need to find Thorin’s boots certainly. And of course he’d want his weapon. As would the others. 

But first she needed to figure out how to get them out.

Though the thought of moving seemed highly unappealing. 

“Just what is this sorcery you’ve performed?” Thorin muttered, “How did you manage to disappear in that way? Is this some hobbit trick?”

Hobbit trick?

Ha.

“Hobbits are hardly known for their magical capabilities.” 

She waved her hand dismissively, too tired to do much more than that. Wearing the ring for so long had completely depleted her energy. 

“And that’s not important right now,” she remarked. “What is important is figuring out how to get you out of here. To get you all out of here.”

Thorin grumbled lowly, “This most certainly is important, halfling. How did you manage-“

“I am half of nothing Thorin Oakenshield and you’d do well to remember that.” Lyla’s voice came out clipped and annoyed. “And this is hardly the time or place for you to question me. We have to worry about getting out of here first. Then we’ll talk.”

Thorin’s brow had knit together in surprise and a bit of fury. His eyes flashed at her hasty reply. He, however, forewent a reply and merely nodded his head. 

He agreed with her?

Well that was…interesting. 

Lyla cleared her throat turning the subject back to more important matters, “Yes well. I’ve-ah-been wandering around the halls for quite some time and I can’t seem to find an exit to this wretched place.” Her gaze shifted back to Thorin, who still stood staring at her, “And now that I’ve found you lot, I can, ah, hopefully find a way out of here.”

“That’s a tall order for such a small burglar,” Thorin remarked dryly, his face still as stone, “how do you propose to evacuate thirteen dwarves from under the nose of the one of the   
most perceptive and annoying creatures in all of Middle Earth? I’m afraid we dwarves aren’t as adept at disappearing as you wee hobbits.” 

Well, she hadn’t gotten to that part yet. 

“I’m not sure, Master Oakenshield,” She huffed in annoyance refraining from rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t quite that far in the plan.”

Thorin snorted, a smirk on his lips, “That’s obvious.”

Lyla grumbled. Why had she missed him? This dwarf! Oh, he was so petulant and…and…

Ugh!

‘Manners, Lyla’ Her mother’s voice chimed in her head. 

“I’ve mentioned before that we only have guards once a day down here. And the ever charming Galion,” Thorin snorted at the mention of the elf’s name, “Is far more fond of his tankard of ale than his duties to Thranduil. Perhaps…” Thorin trailed off, giving Lyla a small smirk.

Oh it was brilliant! 

“Yes! That’s wonderful. We get him drunk. I take the keys. Simple!”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

“We’ll need our weapons too burglar, and I do not know where those might be hiding.”

Blast. 

“Yes, yes of course,” Lyla replied absently, chewing on her bottom lip. Where was she to find their weapons? 

Thorin’s deep chuckle startled her and she turned to the dwarf with a curious look.

Thorin was smiling and shaking his head.

“What?”

Thorin shook his head again, “Never you mind little hobbit. Never you mind,” his smile softened as he gazed at her, “Just relax for a moment and get your strength back. I’m certain you’ll need it.”

*****  
Thorin sat close to the bars of his cell watching the steady rise and fall of Lyla’s chest beneath the heavy blue fabric of her borrowed, tattered jacket.

The hobbit had fallen asleep. 

Thorin’s gaze flicked over Lyla’s face carefully, a deep sadness building in his chest at her ruffled and unkempt form. 

Then her fingers twitched and Thorin’s eyes zeroed in on the thin delicate fingers and the impossible small hand that lay near his cell.

His own fingers twitched and before he realized what he was doing, his hand was extended towards hers.

Thorin pulled back his hand swiftly, appalled and astonished at his thoughtless actions.

This was highly inappropriate. 

The poor creature was asleep for Durin’s sake!

And he didn’t feel anything towards her other than concern as the leader of this company. 

Right?

His hand reached out again of its own accords and his large calloused fingers wrapped around her dirt-caked, tenderly soft hand, his thumb gently grazing her wrist lightly.

And he sat and watched the little hobbit sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Sound off in the comments. I LOVE hearing from you amazing readers. :)
> 
> And check out Luckyhai5's amazing AU Fem!Bilbo fic 'Good Morning'
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And take a peek at chappysmom's fic 'There and Back' and Hobbit/Sherlock crossover. It's fantastic!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	30. Ill News is an Ill Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad tidings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so being sick gives me tons of time to write apparently. Here's another chapter for you. :) It's part 2 of the mammoth chapter I've been writing. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> And a Happy Independence Day to all my American readers!

A short while later, when Lyla’s eyes fluttered open, she noted that her muscles didn’t feel so thoroughly beaten down. And she hadn’t had a nightmare. She stretched her arms forward and tried to ease the small ache that had settled in her lower back as she stood.

Lyla gazed over at Thorin, who sat in the corner across from her, his arms resting on his knees, hands tucked beneath his chin.  
Staring at her 

“I’ll be back,” she murmured, tiredly, “I-I need to see the rest of the company. To let them know you’re here. And then I’ll have a look around, see if I can’t find your weapons or…or something.”

Thorin nodded mutely. He’d gone back to sitting on his straw pile, but his eyes never strayed from Lyla’s face. He watched her carefully, with thin pursed lips, his brows knit tightly together.

She gave him a hesitant smile and slipped her hands in the pockets of her coat, the fingers on her right hand brushing over the cool metal of the little gold band. 

She slipped the ring on and heard Thorin’s sharp intake of air, as his eyes went wide. 

“Be careful half-Lyla. Be careful.” His quiet, pleading whisper reached her ears.

She smiled lightly and slipped silently back down the hallway and towards the staircase. 

Lyla hesitated before ascending the stairs, wary of anyone coming downward. Her ears strained for sounds of elves still harassing her dwarves. 

When she heard nothing, she hastened her pace.

And nearly barreled into a tall figure standing in the doorway. 

A tall figure clad in grey and carrying a large staff.

“Gandalf!” She breathed in surprise.

“Mistress Boggins?!” Kili’s quipped from his cell. “Durin’s beard, what’s going on?” 

“My dear hobbit,” Gandalf murmured gazing around, “Where are you?”

Lyla quickly put her hands behind her back and pulled the ring from her finger, slipping the gold into her pocket.

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed as she appeared before him.

The dwarves were nearly in an uproar.

“How’d she do that then?” Ori muttered, astonishment lacing his words.

“A true burglar!” Oin remarked amused.

“By Mahal…” Fili muttered.

“There are many magic rings in this world, Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf remarked, eyes contemplative as he gazed down his nose at the tired hobbit, “and none of them should be used lightly.” 

Lyla nodded in reply, “I’ve come to find that out myself actually,” She murmured.

Then Gandalf chuckled shaking his head, “In all my days. I never supposed…you can learn all there is to know about Hobbits, but even after a hundred years, they might still surprise you.”

He winked at her.

Lyla could feel the heat on her neck and smiled lightly.

“It’s good to see you too Gandalf.”

The grey wizard chuckled again, “Indeed. I was just telling these lovely dwarves that tonight is their chance to make an escape.”

Lyla’s eyes widened in surprise, “You’re going to help?” 

Gandalf shook his head, his beard swaying lightly, the smile disappearing from his lips.

“I’m afraid I cannot aid you…outright. There’s a great many things that I must attend to, but I will do my best to distract, your ah, host.”

Lyla looked confused, but Gandalf merely shook his head.

“It is best if you follow along and observe. It will take far too long to explain things twice.” Gandalf gestured for her to follow as he slowly made his way past the cells. 

Lyla followed closely behind. 

Until someone snatched at her collar, pulling her backwards, flush against the cool metal of one of the cells. Arms wrapped around her and a small kiss was placed on her cheek.

“I’m glad you are safe Mistress Boggins,” Kili murmured his grip tightening his grip before releasing the hobbit, “Please stay safe my sister.”

Lyla’s heart skipped a beat. 

Sister? 

He thought of her as a sister? 

Oh.

A faint smile worked on her lips as she glanced back at Kili’s beaming face. She also caught Fili’s gaze as she passed by and noted the reverence in his eyes as he watched her.

“Mahal protect you, little sister,” He murmured quietly. 

“Come along Master Baggins!” Gandalf admonished from up the hall.

She could hear the faint murmur of surprise coming from the rest of the company ahead as she cast one more quick glance at the six dwarves in the cells she’d just passed.  
They were all staring at her, looks of wonder and curiosity burning in their gazes. 

She ducked her head and scurried away. 

Only to be snatched up by Dwalin in a fierce hug that pressed her face against the metal of his cell. 

“By my beard,” he exclaimed quietly, his breath tickling Lyla’s ear, “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone little lass.” 

Dwalin pressed his forehead lightly against her own and then released her, “Stay safe.” He murmured a command, his eyes brown eyes bright, a small smile on his lips. 

“I promise,” she murmured a reply, backing through the room as she gazed fondly at Dwalin.

Then it was Bofur’s turn to grab a hold of the hobbit.

“Lass!” he exclaimed in relief, “Yer one mighty spritely creature. I’m glad yer alright.” 

Bofur, too, rested his forehead gently against Lyla’s brow as he pulled the hobbit into a warm hug, soft murmurs being recited in the language that she could not understand.  
She hoped they were pleasant words. 

Then the hatted dwarf released Lyla and gave her a bright smile, “Stay safe my sister. I’ll be seein’ you soon, aye?”

Lyla nodded her head with a grin and hastened from the room, as she heard the calls from the other members of the company to stay safe. 

Oh how she missed them!

*****  
“You cannot be serious!” Gandalf admonished Thranduil as they sat conversing in Thranduil’s throne room.

Lyla had returned to her spot near the pillar, golden ring firmly back on her finger.

“The enemy moves against you. Surely you will not turn a blind eye with danger so close? You cannot hope to defeat them without a plan!”

“Such is the nature of evil,” Thranduil muttered darkly, “In time all foul things come forth to destroy the beauty of the world around them. But what care I for such news? I have my  
fortifications. The enemy cannot penetrate my doors.”

Gandalf scoffed, “Surely even YOU are not so proud as to believe your halls to be impenetrable. The enemy is cunning. They will find a way.”

Lyla watched Thranduil’s eyes flash in anger, “Do not question me wizard,” he hissed, “This is my kingdom and I neither sought nor rely on your advice. What care I for some pale orc? He is nothing to me and has no reason to attack my city.”

“That, is where you are wrong Thranduil son of Oropher. If I’m not mistaken, you have in your midst a dwarvish company lead by the great Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thranduil glowered, “the term ‘great’ is debatable, but yes I have acquired a few members to my prison ward,” and then Thranduil leaned forward, “and I’ll not hear your lectures about propriety or honor. Those dwarves trespassed on my land and will be dealt with accordingly.”

Lyla wanted to smack Thranduil. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the haughty elf sitting atop his throne, completely unruffled by Gandalf’s news.

Lyla, however, knew a bad omen when it was spoken. And Azog coming here did not bode well. 

Not for anyone. 

“You must release them to prevent a direct attack on your people. This orc is cunning, and malicious. And he will stop at nothing to obtain the head of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thranduil scoffed again, “Perhaps I should just offer it to him then?”

Lyla gasped lightly, but tried to keep her voice muffled. 

But her gasp was not the only one to be exclaimed. The red-haired elf and the tall blonde, Legolas, also stood shocked, small noises of surprise escaping their lips.

“Father sure you cannot be serious?” Legolas inquired staring at the king (his father!). 

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed further, a deep frown etched on his face, his eyes losing their mirth, only to be replaced by a bitter coldness. 

“It is a dark day, then,” Gandalf muttered with a frown, “When elves have dealings with orcs. I pity the legacy you will uphold.”

Thranduil remained brooding and silent. 

His son, however, did not.

“Surely we cannot err if we take precautions against this enemy father,” Legolas murmured, his voice soft and respectful, “There is no harm in this.” 

“And it is not only the orcs that have gained my concern,” Gandalf cut in, “Something lurks in the old fortress and I feel that it is moving. You must be prepared for anything.”

Thranduil’s gaze flicked from Gandalf’s harried expression and landed on his son’s. The elf king gazed for a long moment at the tall blonde elf before him, a frown pulling at his lips.

Legolas, to his credit, stood firm under the scrutinizing gaze of the king of Mirkwood, and his father. Bright blue eyes clashed with stormy dark blue ones as father and son stared at one another.

Lyla held her breath.

And then Thranduil sighed and waved his hand in dismissal. 

“Very well. Take a few extra men to patrol the weaponry and the barrel transport entry. That’s the only other place any orc could find hope in entering our halls.” Thranduil sighed and closed his eyes, “Ill news is an ill guest,” he muttered darkly. 

Legolas and the red-haired elf both bowed and hurried away. 

Lyla darted after them.

They WERE heading to the only place available in this entire kingdom where escape was possible. 

*****  
Conveniently enough, the armory was relatively close to the large port entrance where massive wine barrels were stored and pushed off into the river.

‘That might just work’ Lyla mused as she gazed at the size of the barrels. Even Bombur could fit in those things.

Legolas and his companion stopped first to inspect the barrel port quickly, informing the two guard to be careful in observing any movement outside. And then hastened to the armory.

Lyla was pleasantly surprised to find the dwarves weapons among the elvish stock. Even Thorin's boots were sitting amongst the company's weapons. She edged slowly towards the corner where they were stacked, warily gazing back at the two elves were were appraising the amount of weapons available in their armory. 

“When did we allow evil to become stronger than us?” the red-haired elf murmured as she fingered some of the bows on the wall, “We should not be hiding away in our halls. We should be defending our home. Protecting the forest.”

“This is not our fight Tauriel,” Legolas sighed, gazing at his companion with a soft frown, “The orc comes for Thorin Oakenshield. We should not interfere. We should protect our halls and that is all. We cannot go hunting down such creatures. ”

“You are wrong,” Tauriel’s eyes narrowed and a frown tugged at her lips as she turned to face out the balcony, “This IS our fight,” she remarked with her green eyes glittering, challenging Legolas, “When evil encroaches on our home, we should protect it. No matter whom the enemy seeks out. We cannot hide away forever. Someday the enemy will break through our strongholds and overpower us.”

Legolas sighed and dropped his hand from one of the swords on the table. 

“Perhaps you are right. But it is not my decision to make.”

And then Legolas stopped, his gaze drifting out towards the tree line. Lyla leaned closer and observed how the elf prince narrowed his eyes, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“We must hurry,” he murmured, “Gather the guards. We need to form a plan.”

The two hastily exited the armory and Lyla hazarded a glance out into the trees. 

She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

But she wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. The painful feeling in her chest warned her against believing that nothing was out there. 

She had learned that Azog was a fiercely determined creature. 

Hurrying back to the barrel port, she noted that the two guards in charge of the area were also missing. 

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. 

Scurrying back to the armory, she gathered as many weapons in her arms as possible. Fili’s knives, Dwalin’s axes, and various swords and scabbards were scooped up and Lyla slowly, and warily made her way back to the barrels, depositing the precious defenses into one of the barrels and sealed a lid on top. 

She was headed back towards the armory, when a large group of elves sauntered past her, nearly knocking Lyla from her feet in their haste. 

“Orcs scaling the tree line!” Someone shouted as they darted by.

Lyla, who was pressed against the wall, gave a low groan and abandoned her second trip to the armory. 

Instead, she turned on her heel and darted down to the lower level where the pantry was.

And where a secret alcove entrance lead down to her dwarves. 

She descended the stairs, yanking her ring off.

“We have to-“ Her voice abruptly left her as she noted someone else amongst her dwarves.

A tall brown-haired elf with blue eyes gazed at her with a mixture of shock, disgust and annoyance.

Oh bother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I'd love to hear what you think of these chapters. I know it seems a bit slow right now, but things are about to pick up, and pick up quickly. So forgive the slow pace if you find it somewhat annoying...
> 
> Anyway, if you want some other amazing stuff to read check out Luckyhai5's work 'Good Morning' because it's simply wonderful!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> Also, check out this amazing AU crossover, by chappysmom, called 'There and Back' you'll love it!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	31. Barrels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hasty escape ensues
> 
> WARNING: Depictions of violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you guys get another treat today. Seriously, illness does wonders for my imagination...either that or it makes me believe that I'm writing something significant when in reality it's just all a bunch of drivel...That being said, here's another chapter for your enjoyment. Three in one day! 
> 
> And thank you to all of you who have taken the time to review these quickly posted chapters. I know it's a lot to read, but I appreciate every comment you give!
> 
> And here's the song for this chapter. This song is AMAZING so I highly suggest you listen to it to get a feel for the emotions I was trying to convey to you.
> 
> http://youtu.be/xv2dzycKZ58

“What are you?” Galion muttered, his speech slightly slurred, “Some sort of rabbit?”

Lyla huffed.

Was everyone blind?!

Did she truly look like a rabbit?

Honestly…

“I am NOT a rabbit thank you. I’m a hobbit.” She stepped back as the elf slowly inched forward.

“Leave the hobbit alone, ye little snivelin’ princess elf lass,” Bofur growled, his fingers grasping tightly at the bars of the his cell.

Galion chuckled darkly eyeing Lyla, “Oh I think not.” The elf smirked, “I think I’ve finally found that missing creature you’ve all been hiding. And-“ He glanced over at Bofur who was seething, “I think I’ve found something that finally annoys you.”

The elf turned and lunged at the hobbit, who let out a small squeak of surprise and tried to duck out of the way. 

But there wasn’t much room. And Galion was very tall. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She ducked between his legs and stumbled backwards towards the cells.

Galion growled, “Get back here you ugly little rat!” he snarled turning towards the cells as Lyla scrambled to her feet backing up down the hall.

She had to get away from him.

But she had to get the keys as well.

“Ah no thanks, I’d rather not,” She replied knowing her next words would get her in trouble. “I’m certain that I don’t really need to enjoy the company of someone not even fit enough to protect his home. That’s why you were sent down here isn’t it? Couldn’t handle the chaos upstairs.”

Oh her Tookish mouth!

Galion snarled and stalked towards her as Lyla took off down the hall pulling the ring from her pocket. Thank goodness for the element of surprise. 

She gave a shriek as her legs were pulled out from under her and nearly dropped the ring. 

Galion, it appeared, was far closer than she suspected. 

Element of surprise indeed. 

Said elf hauled Lyla to her feet and, fisting the collar of her jacket in his large bony hand, lifted the hobbit into the air until her feet were dangling and she was face to face with the enraged elf man. 

“You petulant little sniveling rat!” He hissed in her face, “How dare you!” Then he gaze narrowed further as his eyes travelled down to her hand.  
Her hand that was clasped into a tight fist. Hiding her ring.

“What do you have there,” he muttered darkly, trying to reach for Lyla’s fingers.

She tried to jerk away, kicking her feet.

And she refused to unclench her fist, a dread filling her belly at the strange glint in Galion’s eye. 

He couldn’t get the ring. 

She couldn’t let him. 

“Give it to me,” The elf whispered dangerously, eyes flashing as his fingers closed around Lyla’s hand, trying to pry them open.

She struggled to pull her hand away.

“No.”

“You carry something,” Galion murmured, “Something of great power. Give it to me.”

His grip tightened around Lyla’s hand until it was alarmingly painful. 

Lyla hissed but would not release her fingers. She kicked her feet and twisted as far from his reaching hand as possible.

Her kick connected with the elf’s stomach.

Infuriated, Galion rammed Lyla’s back into one of the cells that stung but wasn’t hard enough to cause any real damage. His grip on her jacket twisted and tightened until breathing was getting difficult. The elf’s nails dug into the skin of her hand, clawing at her closed fist, trying to pry it open. 

“Give it to me! It should be mine.” 

A hand shot through the bars next to Lyla’s face and grabbed a hold of Galion’s tunic yanking the elf closer to Lyla…

And the cell bars where Bofur and Dori were trapped. 

Galion’s face connected with the hard metal with a sickening crunching noise and his grip on Lyla loosened. 

She dropped to the floor gasping and coughing, her lungs searching for air. Lyla gazed upwards, noting the choking noises coming from a very startled Galion.

Dori had his massive arms wrapped tightly around the thin elf’s neck. Galion was clawing at Dori’s arms wildly, trying to get the dwarf to loosen his grasp. 

But Dori held firm, a dark fury written in his features that startled even Lyla.

“Don’t-“ she coughed trying to clear her throat, “Don’t kill him!” She gasped out. 

Dori cast her a curious glance, “It’s not better than he deserves. He tried to kill YOU!”

Dori had a point. Galion had been nothing but unkind and nearly cruel. 

But did he really deserve death as a result? 

She gazed into the face of the elf whose eyes were bulging, his face going a spectacular shade of red. Panic welled in his blue orbs and he gazed beseechingly at Lyla who lay on the floor.

And she felt pity for him.

Aule help her. She hoped she wouldn’t regret this.

“Don’t kill him. Please.” She remarked, “Please. Just-just knock him out or-or something.”

Dori gave her a strange look but nodded and with a quick jerk backwards, connected Galion’s head forcefully with the metal of his cell walls. 

The elf stilled in the dwarf’s grasp and Dori rereleased the limp form into heap at Lyla’s feet. 

Lyla hesitantly reached for the keys connected to a leather strap around the elf’s waist and scrambled to her feet, thrusting the ring back into the confines of her pocket.

“Mark me, my dear,” Dori murmured as she unlocked his cell, “I’ll not be lenient to that filth a second time.” He gave her a pointed look, as a small smile crept on his face, “You’ re far too kind to the undeserving you know that?”

He patted her shoulder as he exited the cell, Bofur hot on his heels, crushing Lyla in a large, warm embrace.

“Aye, ye are far too kind,” he murmured as he tightened his grip on her, “Far too kind indeed.”

He knocked his forehead against hers again and then pulled back with a grin.

“Now!” He remarked cheerfully, “Let’s abandon the lovely hospitality of the elves shall we?”

Lyla nodded in eager agreement. 

“We have to hurry,” She murmured going to each cell and setting the dwarves free. She received several claps on the back and a bone crushing hug from Dwalin in the process. 

“Aye lass we know that,” Gloin remarked giving her a small nod of his head, “Weren’t plannin’ on dilly dallyin’ around this place.” 

Lyla snorted and shook her head, “Yes yes of course I knew that. It’s just, we’re going to have more company than expected.”

She hurried to the other room with Bofur in tow.

“Who do ye mean lass?” He queried confusedly, eyebrows quirked upwards.

Lyla sighed and stilled for a moment the keys firmly locked in her hand. Her throat went dry at the thought of…

 

“Azog,” she whispered lowly, “Azog is coming. Gandalf headed him off, but he-he knows you are here. That Thorin’s here.”

There was a low cacophony of curses thrown into the air, propelling Lyla to finish the task at hand. She quickly unlatched the three remaining cell doors and freed the rest of her companions, earning praises and thanks for her efforts. 

“Head out to the main cell area,” Lyla murmured amidst the murmurs and movement of limbs, “I’ll-I have to get Thorin free.” 

She darted down the hall towards the staircase that lead to Thorin’s cell. 

When she rounded the corner, she noted that Thorin was standing, alert, his hands clenched around the metal bars of the cell, eyes narrowed questioningly.

“What in Durin’s name is going on?” He murmured eyeing her cautiously.

Lyla sighed and fiddled with the keys, trying to find the right one, “We’re leaving. Things have certainly gotten…complicated. Ah ha!” 

She pushed a rather old, ornate key into the keyhole of Thorin’s cell door. 

The lock made a loud click and she pulled the door open for Thorin.

Thorin stepped hesitantly out of the cell, eyeing the hobbit carefully, his barefeet silently slapping against the cold stone. 

He stood close to the hobbit, peering down at her, his nose nearly brushing the top of her head, as his hands encircled her arms in a gentle yet firm grip.

“What is going on. We’ll not more another step until you explain.” His warm breath ghosted over her cheeks and sent a tingle down her spine. 

Oh Aule help her. This is ridiculous. 

Lyla sighed again, and gave Thorin a firm look. 

“Azog.” She replied. “He’s here.”

Thorin’s eyes widened and he stepped back, releasing her arms as though he’d been burned.

“When?” He muttered darkly, the startling blue of his eyes dimming.

“I’m not sure, but soon. The guards are preparing to defend their settlement, but Thranduil doesn’t seem to think that Gandalf’s words are of much concern. There’s a-a way out.” 

She inwardly cringed. They weren’t going to like her plan.

But then again, they didn’t have much choice, did they? 

“I’ve got some of the weapons retrieved and I’ll try to get more, but we have to hurry. 

Thorin rubbed his face and let out a low groan. 

But then his face contorted into a resolved determinate scowl. He eyed Lyla for a moment and then nodded.

“Lead on.” 

*****

It was far easier that she could have hoped for, getting from the cells to the barrel port. She supposed that most of the guards were busy with Legolas’ orders.   
At least that’s what she hoped.

That and Galion wasn’t available to inform anyone of their escape. Bofur and Dori had ensured that. 

The unconscious elf currently lay inside one of the cells that the previous occupants had just vacated. And Lyla had a firm grasp on the keys.   
He wouldn’t be discovered for awhile yet. 

The company moved silently through the halls…or as silently as dwarves could move that is. They followed Lyla without a word, as she navigated the staircases and hallways leading towards the barrel ports and the armory. 

Of course her luck would run out when they actually reached the barrel ports. 

As she rounded the corner into the room, she met the startled faces of two of the guards, patrolling the small alcove and lever systems that led in the river. 

Their eyes widened as they took in the small, disheveled hobbit before them. Then their gazes hardened and they pointed their swords towards the small creature, who didn’t have a chance to unsheathe her own weapon in defence. 

Not that she had to. 

Thirteen dwarves rounded the corner after her, their gazes furious and hardened, challenging the two guards to charge the small hobbit. 

And then Dwalin and Nori were upon the guards, their fists silencing any cry of alarm that would escape the elves’ lips. 

“Get in the barrels!” Lyla hissed warily, her stomach clenching painfully. 

Something was going to happen. 

She could feel the foreboding taint in the air. 

“Are ye mad woman?!” Gloin retorted.

“This hardly a reliable plan burglar,” Thorin remarked wrinkling his nose in disgust, “We’ll be dashed to pieces travelling down that river.”

A low murmur of agreement swept through the company.

Lyla ground her teeth in annoyance. 

“Oh I’m sorry, did you have a better idea your majesty?” She turned and narrowed her eyes at Thorin, “Perhaps you’d like to go back to sitting in your cell while Azog makes his way to you?” 

Thorin glowered at Lyla. And she knew she was being impertinent. But she didn’t care. 

They were wasting valuable time. 

Someone must have heard the commotion they’d caused. 

With a resigned sigh Thorin gestured, “Into the barrels. Now.”

Lyla fiddled with her pocket and gazed at the company who were maneuvering into position, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to try and get the rest of your weapons if I can.”

“Lyla!” Thorin called warningly after her.

But she’d already put the ring on and was dashing from the room and towards the armory. 

She skidded to a halt as she heard all the commotion coming from within. Chancing a quick glance around, her eyes widened in alarm. The place was swarming with elves.

Taking a deep breath she darted between thin bodies, dodging feet and wayward arms and made her way towards the small pile of dwarvish weapons and Thorin’s boots that sat untouched by the creatures around her. She was going to cause a stir by moving them, that was certain. But, time was not on their side at the moment.

She just hoped that the elves were distracted enough to not take too much notice. 

She gathered up what weapons she could, forced to leave a few of the larger swords behind. And then with Thorin’s boots in hand, she waddled her way back through the may lay of people and towards the entrance. 

“Orcs!” the call came, just as she reached the door, “To arms!”

And suddenly people were rushing around her, out the door, pushing, knocking her to ground. The weapons tumbled and a few elves gazed down curiously, but did not stop to investigate. For all appearances, it looked as though someone had knocked over the pile of dwarf weapons. 

Thank Aule for that. 

Lyla scrambled to gather what she could and again hastened her pace back towards the barrel port. 

But her heart gave a painful lurch as she realized just where the orcs were, where the battle was. 

She was astonished to see Thranduil, clad in rich armor, sword pointed towards Thorin, who had his hands raised in submission. 

On the other side of the elf king stood his son, Bow notched with an arrow. 

Pointed at Azog. 

Lyla let out a low groan. What a fine mess this had turned into! If all adventures were like this, she'd do well to stay at home.

That being said, though, she knew she had to do something. 

But what?

A distraction came, however, of its own accord. Out of the corner of her eye, Lyla spotted something. 

The faintest of movements from the trees outside. Her eyes widened in realization.

Dammit. 

Lyla shoved the dwarvish weapons and boots from her hands and tore the ring from her finger and darted forward.

Straight into Thranduil. 

Surprised by the sudden presence of a very small hobbit, Thranduil lost his balance and the two tumbled to the floor. 

Just as an arrow whizzed overhead and rammed into a guard’s shoulder. 

Well better someone’s shoulder than Thranduil’s chest. 

Or at least that’s what she tried to reassure herself as she scrambled from atop the stunned elf. 

“I’ll take that your majesty,” She huffed, pulling Thorin’s sword from the surprised elf’s grasp.

And then chaos exploded around her. 

And this was the chaos that Azog seemed to appreciate. Legolas’ attention had been diverted to the would-be assassin and his arrow fired into the trees as Azog lunged forward towards Thorin who was propelling backwards. 

The elvish guard, thankfully, moved into action and cut off Azog’s march forward. 

Just as the rest of the orc’s company leapt into action.

Chaos erupted. 

“Get into the barrels!” Lyla cried to the dwarves as they scrambled to collect the fallen weapons. Lyla darted for Thorin’s boots. 

And was shoved to the ground by a dark skinned, slimy creature that hissed lowly at her, crude knife raised. She let out a low shriek of surprise.

But a thick wooden staff cracked over the creature’s head and it fell like a floppy reed into the river. 

Lyla gazed up in surprise at Gandalf’s grim face. 

“Hurry now!” He commanded, “I’ll do what I can to shield your escape, but you have to hurry.”

Lyla nodded again and scrambled to her feet, Thorin’s boots firm in her grasp. Most of the dwarves were in the barrels, though Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Thorin stood, eyeing the battled and attacking any orcs or elves who came to close. 

“Move!” She cried, tossing Thorin his sword, “Into the barrels!” The dwarves hesitated, eyeing her with unease. "MOVE!" She bellowed.

They didn’t need a second warning. 

Backing up slowly, one by one, the four remaining dwarves darted into the empty barrels as Lyla ran to the lever that controlled the chute they’d travel down. She tossed the boots into one of barrels and grasped onto the switch.

Aule, let them be okay after all this was over.

“Stop!” cried one of the elves and Lyla turned surprised to see, the blonde elf she’d met when he and Galion had given the dwarves their food, coming towards her a surprised yet annoyed look on his face. 

A surprised look that turned to pain and horror as an orc blade sliced through is abdomen. The pale elf's eyes dimmed, his mouth gaping into a silent scream as he slid slowly downward, his fingers clenching and unclenching and crimson life stained his clothing.

She narrowed her eyes, biting back a scream of terror (and sorrow for the fallen elf) as Azog growled, his eyes ablaze with recognition and fury. 

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her shaking hands, amidst cries of concern from her companions

And pulled the lever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how did you like this chapter? I'm curious to hear your opinions. Sound off below!
> 
> And take a gander at this amazing fem!Bilbo by Luckyhai5 called 'Good Morning'-Splendid really!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> Also take a peek at chappysmom's work 'There and Back'-It's amazing!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	32. Worth and Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fury of an orc and the bravery of a hobbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys! You are wonderful wonderful reviewers, kudo givers and readers in general. Thank you for all the support! I appreciate everything.
> 
> Just know that this is part of a rather large, complicated section. I've had to break it up just because of sheer complications going on. But, that bodes well for you. You can expect another update sometime later today after I've gotten some sleep and tried to get this ugly earache and headache to leave me be. Sigh...I may need to head to the doctor at some point...but, until then I'll keep writing to amuse myself.
> 
> Enjoy!

No.  
Lyla turned briefly to look up at Thorin’s horrified face. She looked panicked, tired, and terrified. But then, a small, resigned smile lit her features and a look of calm affection sparkled in her large hazel eyes for a brief moment. She gave Thorin a quick nod of her head and then she quickly turned around.

Thorin’s stomach dropped at the realization.

No! 

Mahal, no!

“Lyla!” He thundered, trying to scramble from his barrel, reaching his arm for her, trying to grab her jacket, her arm, anything, as she pulled the lever, dropping the companions down a chute and into a fast-paced river. The last image that he caught was a mop of matted, dirty golden curls disappearing from his view as his barrel plunged into the river.

No!

That foolish, impertinent, annoying, brave hobbit. Why would she do that?! Why would she purposely put herself in harm’s way like this?

Mahal help him, no. 

No.

****  
Azog’s roar was deafening as the barrels containing Lyla’s dwarves tumbled down into the chute, safe from the pale orc’s mal intent. 

The same couldn’t be said for their small hobbit burglar. 

She knew that by pulling the lever she’d have a small chance of making it through the chute along with her company members. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was getting those she cared about to safety. That was the most important thing to her. 

And part of her wanted to gloat of her success, to triumphantly stand in from of Azog, with a calm demeanor and a large smirk.

She had bested him after all. How many creatures could claim such a title as their own?

But as she stared down the pale orc, whose beady blue eyes betrayed the utter hatred and contempt he held for the small hobbit, she didn’t feel smug. Far from it in fact.

She felt fear. Heart-stopping, limb shaking fear from the tips of her ears to the bottom of her soles. 

Her gaze flicked down to the still, blonde elf lying in crimson, his breath still, his eyes closed, mouth pulled into a silent cry. Anguish filled her veins for the loss of an innocent life. 

‘Aule bless him,’ she thought pleadingly. 

But then a panic welled up inside her, threatening to destroy her rational thinking as she realized that she too might end up like that.

Lyla looked back to Azog’s scowling face and saw the look in the orc’s eyes and knew that he wanted her dead as well. There would be no games played, no dancing around the issue.

He intended to kill her. 

But despite this earth-shattering fear, the terrified knowledge that this moment could likely be her end, Lyla felt no regret for her actions. She knew it was the right thing to do. And she’d do it again if the opportunity presented itself to her. 

Thorin’s face flashed in her mind and then Fili’s, Kili’s, Bofur’s, Dwalin’s and the rest of the company’s. She smiled at the thought of those thirteen rowdy, unusual, boisterous, creatures.

Those dwarves meant more to her than anything in Middle Earth. 

They were her family now.

And she’d protect them, even if it meant never being able to see them again.

Because after all, she was just an ordinary little hobbit.

Nothing special really.

But they were important beyond all measurable treasures. 

Lyla swallowed the bile that had risen into her throat and blindly searched to grab hilt of her sword with shaking hands.

Time seemed to slow down, colors becoming brighter, shapes more defined, expressions forever burned into her memory. She noted the battled swirling around her. Elves of all shapes and sizes, with their bright silver swords, and bows, moved gracefully around her, dancing and spinning as they slew orc after orc, slimy flesh and snarling growls falling to the floor. 

She also saw, with startling clarity, Azog’s large scarred hand clenched into a tight fist, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared. She could see the taut, bulging muscles the beast’s neck and the dark scowl that took up the entirety of his face as he charged forward, a guttural cry falling from his blackened lips.

Surprised at the orc’s speed, Lyla stumbled backwards with a cry as the blow from Azog’s clawed arm connected with explosive force to the blade of her sword. She felt her grip buckle, but with a gasp, she forced her arms to remain firm and still. She would not buckle against this.

She couldn’t afford to.

The orc snarled at her and bore down, the sheer weight of his presence bending her form until she nearly toppled. 

Her muscles protested, her back groaned in agony, her hands shook.

“mother,” she whispered desperately, a deep panic settling in her heart. 

She was going to die. 

But then a loud cry shattered Lyla’s ears as Tauriel lunged forward and drove a knife into Azog’s arm. 

The surprised orc let out a howl of agony and released his hold over Lyla who toppled backwards, gasping for air, her heart hammering in her chest. 

The elf rammed her body into Azog’s pushing the still howling orc backwards. And then she stood, between Lyla and Azog, tall and proud, her auburn air tousled and tumbling down her back, with her knife in one hand and her sword (a thin delicate thing) grasped tightly in her other hand. A spectacular scowl graced her features as deep, forest green eyes glittered with fury and Lyla could feel the anger radiating from the lithe creature before her.

“Back!” She hissed, a deep biting fury lacing her words as her fingers twitched, “Stay back.”

Azog growled and straightened, baring his pointed, rotting teeth his eyes narrowed into slits as he gazed at the elf before him. Azog’s glanced down at his arm, his dark blood dripping slowly to the marbled stone floor. His fist curled and a low roar escaped the orc’s lips.

And then he charged the elf, who stood unruffled by the pale orcs sheer intimidating power.

“Run.” Tauriel murmured behind her, towards Lyla. “Run little one. Go!” 

And the orc was upon the elf. She twisted herself backwards, dodging a blow and brought her sword up to parry the second shot the orc threw at her. Metal clashed against metal, the stinging sound reverberating in Lyla’s ears with shocking force. 

She stumbled to her feet and backed up, her eyes wide her head confused. Why would they help her. 

Azog noticed her movements and with a quick shove, knocked the elf downwards, lunging towards the hobbit once more. She tried to bring her sword up, to defend herself. 

Someone jerked Lyla backwards as another elf leapt in front of the quaking hobbit. 

Legolas, stood, bow notched with an arrow aimed between Azog’s eyes. 

“Move and I bury this arrow in your skull, you filth,” Legolas snapped, his lips pulled into a thin line as he stared down the orc. 

Azog’s eyes twitched and he let out a low growl, his speech marred by the fury he obviously felt. 

Lyla, however, was pinned by an angry and frazzled looking Thranduil, who grasped the hobbit’s shoulders, his grip bordering on painful.

Oh for Aule’s sake! Was he serious?!

“Why!” He muttered darkly his golden hair tumbling in his face, “You let them escape! You helped them! How did you get in here?! Tell me!” 

He stopped suddenly and peered down at her, his mouth forming an ‘o’ and a look of disbelief clouding his features.

“It was you I sensed. In the throne room. YOU!” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed and a twisted frown worked onto his face, contorting it into something hideous as he fisted the collar of Lyla’s shirt in his thin, pale hands, “You were the one to kill the spiders. You’ve been here the entire time.” 

He shook hobbit forcefully, until Lyla could feel her teeth start to rattle in her head. 

“How!” he uttered furiously, “What power are you hiding! Tell me how!”

He was crazy. 

She needed to get away from him. 

She arched her back and brought her foot upwards, landing a solid kick into the elf king’s stomach. The elf seemed to come to his senses due to the force and backed away from the hobbit quickly, his hands balled into fists, a frown on his face.

But Lyla let out a low groan and she launched herself upwards and into the arms of the startled king, pushing the elf to the side just as an orc knife whizzed past. Lyla let out a hiss as the serrated edge of the weapon broke through the fabric and nicked her skin. The orc was upon them both, snarling and hissing, clawing at both Lyla and Thranduil. Lyla pressed the king backwards, away from the attack as she pushed her legs outward, connecting with gangly legs of the creature. Losing its balance the orc toppled awkwardly to the side, a startled screech escaping its lips.

Then a loud cracking noise caught Lyla’s attention. She was shocked to see Gandalf the Grey standing before her, staff outstretched as he brought the hard polished wood down again.

Onto the mottled flesh of the surprised green-grey orc. The creature slumped on top of Thranduil and the elf king sighed in disgust and, shoving the still body to the ground, tried to rise again. 

Lyla scrambled away from both the orc and the elf, a wearied nervousness wearing her down. She didn't even know if she could trust this elf!

But not before still another crack from Gandalf’s staff sent Thranduil grunting backwards in surprise and pain.

“I’ll not have any of that. You are not yourself Thranduil son of Oropher. You have to let her go Thranduil. Do it.” 

The elf king growled lowly, but his thin bony fingers released their hold on Lyla’s jacket bregrudgingly. 

She pushed herself backwards, away from the elf king, her eyes warily scanning around for signs of the pale orc, who was still being detained by Legolas and a few other of the elf guard. 

“You fool of a Took!” Gandalf’s gruff, harried voice was in her ear as he straightened her up and shoved her to the side. “Get to the barrel. Tauriel will take care of the rest.”

Lyla stood for a moment gaping at the wizard.

“Move!” He admonished again shoving her again even as he surged forward to aid Legolas who, while distracted by his father, had been tackled by the orc. The elf was struggling to pull the pale creature from atop him, reaching desperately for his belt, where a sheathed sword lay. 

Then Gandalf was there, staff and sword in hand prepared to strike. With a low cry, he brought his sword downward with surprising force and speed.

He would have connected with Azog’s shoulder, had not the orc been prepared for the attack and parried his movements, rolling off of Legolas in order to stand and defend himself against the grey wizard. 

Lyla’d seen enough. 

She darted to her left and skirted around the slowly dimming battle--a battle she noted with relief, that was being won by the eles--as she made her way back towards the barrel port and to a barrel that sat atop the platform, ready and waiting for her. 

How did they? 

When?

WHY?

Tauriel gestured her forward, “Into the barrel shireling, hurry!”

Lyla scrambled up to the platform and sheathed her sword, stumbling, with some difficulty, into the large wooden barrel that smelled faintly of apples. She gazed at Tauriel confusedly.

“Why?” She murmured lowly, uncertain if the elf could hear her.

But hear her she did. Tauriel gave a grim smile even as Lyla heard Thranduil’s cries of protest for the red-haired elf to stop her movements.

“Stop!” the elf king thundered, “Do not aid in his escape! Bring the hobbit here, now!”

“The elves are indebted to you little hobbit. Thank you,” Tauriel murmured, her face contorted into a grimace as the shouts from Thranduil continued. 

Then she pulled the lever.

Lyla gripped the edges of the barrel, digging her nails into the weathered wood as she felt a strange rushing sensation shift through her body, making her stomach drop to her toes, as the barrel rolled down the platform and towards the chute. 

But, before she disappeared from Thranduil’s halls completely, Azog’s murderous growl erupted in her ears, and a heavy thud echoed around her as something crashed into the barrel.

Lyla let out a startled scream as a long clawed arm shot into the barrel and Azog’s pinched, scarred face loomed over her, a snarl tearing from his lips as he gazed into the barrel. 

And into the face of the frightened hobbit he had trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what think ye of this chapter? I hope it made sense. Battle scenes are always hard for me to detail and flesh out. I always come away from them feeling very inexperienced with life. I've never experience battle so how can I detail it?!
> 
> But I'd love to hear your comments. 
> 
> And take a peek at Luckyhai5's story 'Good Morning'-It's a fun ride to travel on!   
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347?view_adult=true
> 
> Also take a look at chappysmom's work 'There and Back'-I love it!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	33. Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A barrel ride
> 
> WARNING: Depictions of Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow people! The response to the last chapter has me reeling. You guys are awesome. 
> 
> And as promised, here's another chapter for you to enjoy. 
> 
> However, I have a confession to make. This section mushroomed into a far larger sequence than originally anticipated. So, I've split things up again. You can expect another chapter rather soon. But I had to split it up again just to keep my own thoughts running smoothly in relevance to this whole bit...if any of that makes sense.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think.

The furious orc spit in her face and lunged towards her. Lyla scrunched downward, pressing herself as flat as possible against the bottom of the barrel while searching to get a hold of her sword before the pale orc managed to impale her. But, she was at such an odd angle that she couldn’t quite get her sword to move.

Then another ‘thump’ resounded around the inside of the barrel and, to Lyla’s surprise, Azog’s form was pulled backwards. 

She heard the shout of a man.

An elvish man.

The barrel dropped suddenly and Lyla was pitched forward as the barrel tumbled top over tail into the water. The barrel filled with the frigid crystal water and Lyla choked and sputtered, trying to keep her breathing stable. 

She heard more shouts above her as the barrel twisted and pivoted, rocking Lyla’s small frame from side to side, slamming it against the hard wooden sides of her temporary home. 

Azog gave a low, bitter yell and then a pale white arm was reaching into the barrel. It grasped onto the back of Lyla’s coat, and she was yanked upwards, clawing at Azog’s grasp, kicking her feet. 

The barrel rocked sharply to the left as it tumbled down the river, sending Azog and Lyla over the side, the orc’s grip still firm on Lyla’s jacket. 

She was pulled from the barrel and into the frigid water. She gasped as the breath was knocked from her lungs as the water rushed around her pressing her body with such force, filling her nostrils, making her dizzy.

But even as she could feel Azog’s grip on her coat, pulling her downwards, something snatched at her arm and tugged upward, pulling the hobbit’s face above the waterline.

Lyla coughed and kicked her and gazed up into the face of Legolas, who was cocooned inside the barrel and was desperately trying to keep a hold of the tiny hobbit.

“I’ve got you,” He murmured pulling upwards his grip firm but gentle.

Lyla reached her other arm out to grab at the wooden rim of the barrels mouth, trying to aid in Legola’s rescue attempts.

But Azog would have none of it. The pale orc brought his clawed arm upwards and pulled his weight around the hobbit’s neck, pulling Lyla backwards with such force that her grip on the barrel slipped. The orc hissed lowly in her ear, contempt dripping with every syllable.

Her heart started hammering.

But Legolas would not release her arm. He strained to pull her upwards, the distance between them straining Lyla’s arm in a painful way. 

“I’ll not let him take you,” he whispered to her, “I promise.”

How many times had she heard that promise before?

A large wave of water washed over her head as the barrel caught a rapid and twisted violently to Lyla’s left. Lyla was whipped in a circle, the force of which threw Azog backwards and off of her back, as she desperately clung to the determined elf’s grip.

He head was spinning as she spun around, her fingers digging into Legolas’ arm as the the water ebbed at her resolve and her grip.

They hit a bump as the current picked up, rocking the barrel to one side and then the other.

And suddenly Lyla was airborne as Legolas tugged quite forcefully, pulling the water-logged hobbit back inside the barrel, grasping her tightly to him as they continued down the river.

“Sweet Eru,” Legolas gasped panting as the barrel rocked and twisted, “You attract a rather large amount of danger for someone so small.”

Lyla turned her face up to gaze at the elf who had a firm hold on her. A small smile lit his face, his blue eyes sparkling in amusement. With his blonde hair sticking to his head in a haphazard way, he truly looked a sight. 

Especially for an elf. 

And she would have laughed at the sight and his remark had not her gaze caught movement behind Legolas’ shoulder.

Aule help her. Why couldn’t things go according to plan?!

Instead of laughing, her grip tightened around the elf and she yanked the creature backwards, slamming her back against the wall of the barrel, forcing the entire contraption to rock violently to one side, allowing water to wash over them again.

But it served its purpose. 

It got Legolas out of harm’s reach.

Azog’s surprised and infuriated face came into view as he scrambled to climb atop the barrel, to trap his prey, his arms reaching for the Lyla’s throat.

But something happened that neither Lyla nor Azog could have anticipated. 

With a sickening crunch, the barrel collided with a large rock situated, like an island, in the center of the river. 

The force of the impact rocked against the side of the barrel, cracking and splintering the thick wood and tossing the inhabitants within the barrel into one another, as Azog toppled off the barrel and into the water. 

Lyla started to panic when she couldn’t see the orc any longer. Where had he gone? Was he coming to attack? 

She bit back a scream. She didn’t know what to do.

But they had a bigger problem at the moment.

The splintered wood allowed water to come pouring in, washing over Lyla’s face as she struggled to kick her legs and propel herself upwards and outwards from the sinking barrel that continued to beat against the rock. 

Legolas’ hand grasped her own and he tugged, pulling the hobbit closer to him as his powerful legs urged them upwards, breaking the surface of the water. 

“We have to get to shore!” he shouted above the roaring and rushing rapids, as they were pulled further downstream. He hoisted Lyla higher onto his back so that her arms were encircling his neck.

“Keep kicking your feet!” He commanded gently.

Lyla heartily agreed with this plan though all she could manage as a reply was a cough. 

Hobbits weren’t particularly fond of water and the sooner she could get out of this raging river, the better she’d feel. 

She quickened her kicks to match the speed of Legolas’ and together they cut slowly through the water, clinging to one another, grasping at rocks and branches, making their way to the shore. 

‘Aule help us’ Lyla chanted in her head as the shoreline loomed ever closer. 

But it was as if all the evils of Middle Earth were conspiring against the little hobbit far from the comfort of her home.

Something grabbed onto Lyla’s leg and yanked her downward again. 

‘Azog’ her mind supplied, ‘It has to be.’

With a shriek, she lost her grip on Legolas and sank back beneath the rushing current.

She chanced opening her eyes and nearly choked on what air was in her lungs as the water distorted the face of the pale orc as he grasped onto her arms, his face contorted and twisted into a murderous gaze. 

Lyla kicked her feet and broke the surface of the water.

“Legolas!” she gasped as she was dragged back under.

*****  
They were making their way back up the hillside. Thorin wasn’t about to let the foolish, brave actions of their burglar cost her. He had to do something. 

Thorin could hear the low murmurs of concern and worry trickling throughout the company as they hastened their pace back towards Mirkwood and the Elvish king’s halls. Dwalin in particular was practically buzzing with pent up fury, just waiting to be released. 

However, his mind was far more engaged in a memory, a thought, an image. 

Curls.

Dirty, matted, blonde curls.

And tear stains running down thin cheeks. 

‘That blasted, foolish brave little hobbit. Why would she do such a thing? She assured their safety at the cost of her own? She’d risked everything for retrieve their weapons, rescue them from their cells…She even remember his ruddy boots for Durin’s sake! Had she no sense of self-preservation?’

That’s when Thorin heard it. 

A faint cry. 

A cry that almost sounded like—

Then there was a loud growl and another cry.

An elf.

“Legolas!” 

Thorin’s eyes widened.

Lyla!

“Hurry!” he commanded his companions . 

They had to hurry. 

*****

Lyla couldn’t which was was up as she and the orc tumbled in the water, bubbles cascading around her. Her ears felt as though they were going to burst from the pressure. Her lungs felt constricted and in desperate need of oxygen. 

The orc’s grip tightened on Lylas arms, squeezing painfully. 

Azog pulled Lyla upward as he made his way to the far bank, safe from Legolas’ grasp. Tossing the choking hobbit onto the bank, the enraged orc pounced on the wary creature, his grip finding purchase on Lyla’s throat.

A wave of Déjà vu struck her as she gazed into the narrowed blue eyes of the pale orc. 

This time, however, the orc’s grip was much firmer, far more deadly in force as he squeezed at her tender neck, his eye twitching, a sickening smirk gracing his twisted features.  
Lyla tried to kick her legs, tried to move her arms, but Azog had anticipated that she would. 

And he wasn’t going to make that mistake a second time.

A deep laugh escaped his mouth as he gazed down at the choking hobbit, his eyes glittering in amusement.

Spots danced before Lyla’s eyes and her hearing started to dim.

But an arrow, a blessed arrow hit Azog square in the shoulder, the force of the impact sending the howling orc backwards and off of Lyla.

Déjà vu hit her again.

Hadn’t Kili…?

Lyla rolled and staggered to her feet, gasping for air as she stumbled away from the orc. She noted Legolas, standing across the river, bow ready and waiting for the orc to rise. 

Oh bless him.

Bless anyone who knew how to use a bow!

A small grunt escaped her lips as she stumbled further away from Azog and drew her sword. 

With an earth-shattering howl, Azog started to rise to his feet, plucking the arrow from his arm with a sickening ‘squelch’.

And Lyla knew this would happen.

Even with an elf archer across the way, Azog was determined to obtain what was his.

He was determined to kill her. 

Running would do no good. 

No.

No, Lyla had no choice but to face her enemy. 

Azog cast a quick glance across the river where Legolas stood at the ready, and then his sinister gaze flicked back towards Lyla. With a low growl, he sauntered forwards, building up speed the closer he got to Lyla.

Lyla noted the arrow that sailed towards the orc as he darted towards Lyla, but the way Azog changed his speed resulted in the arrowed missing its intended target and imbedding, instead, into a tree. 

The force of Azog’s impact at Lyla, sent the hobbit sprawling backwards. Her fingers, still numb from the river sent her sword clattering to the ground. 

She let out a startled cry and rolled to her left, dodging the large fist that slammed down where she had by lying. Kicking her feet, she scrambled away and to her feet, grasping at  
her sword once more. 

But Azog was one step ahead. 

The large fist that had missed her before, made connection to her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and buckling her knees. She tumbled backwards again. 

Back into the water. 

With Azog following closely behind her. 

She lost hold of her sword once more as water filled her nostrils and poured into her mouth as the orc leapt on top of her grasping at her jacket, his clawed arm tearing through the material and wrapping the jacket around the metal arm. 

Pulling back, and rising to his feet, he hoisted the squirming sputtering hobbit upwards with his claw until her feet dangled and he his eyes were level with hers. 

His eyes narrowed as he assessed her wide eyes and panicked demeanor.

This position allowed him to intimidate the hobbit. And it kept him safe from any attempts by Legolas to fire another arrow.

Clever orc.

Azog smirked, his face contorting into a look of victorious malicious revenge. And, then spit at her, the putrid filth dribbling down Lyla’s cheek. 

The pale orc brought their faces close together, mere inches apart and whispered one word:

“Matum.”

With a growl that increased in volume, until it rattled Lyla’s ears, Azog brought his fist high, raising Lyla’s higher, prepared to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, another cliffhanger...sorry. It's been a complex whirlwind ride to tackle. But, take heart, dear readers, this monstrosity of a barrel ride is almost over. Hope you've enjoyed it thus far though. I'd love to hear your opinions.
> 
> And can anyone guess what matum means? It shouldn't be too hard to figure it out I wager...
> 
> Also check out these great fics: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's 'Good Morning'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347?view_adult=true
> 
> And 
> 
> chappysmom's 'There and Back'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	34. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin faces his past
> 
> WARNING: Depictions of violence...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness people! I could not believe the responses I've gotten for the last few chapters. Seriously, my inbox was FILLED with notifications about your awesome reviews! You guys are amazing and I thank you for taking the time to read and review this story. And thank you for all the kudos, the bookmarks, all of it! 
> 
> Well here's the third section of the massive arc of strangeness that has been the escape from Mirkwood and the Elven king's halls. I hope you enjoy it! And sorry it's a little later coming out than I anticipated. My brain is still a bit muddled with medication...
> 
> But here's the music for the chapter if you're interested:
> 
> http://youtu.be/WGQ0zPQCsqQ

He’d gone on ahead of the others when he’d heard the cry. He didn’t want to risk being too late. 

Thorin’s heart stopped as he made it through the trees and noted the frightened little hobbit dangling in the air, her legs kicking out, trying to stop the orc who had her raised up like a fish on display. Her face was flushed, her hair dripping, a look of resigned horror marred her features.

A burning stone of dread ignited in his belly at the sight.

Azog growled and raised Lyla higher into the sky, his fist clenching an ever growing roar echoing in the air. 

And then Thorin was charging, full speed, sword drawn a furious roar of his own escaping his lips.

Not her.

*****  
She heard him before she saw him.

Lyla’s heart rate sped up as she heard the familiar roar. 

That blessedly familiar rich, baritone roar of fury that only Thorin Oakenshield could produce.

Oh it was like music.

But, Azog too, heard the dwarf’s charge and pivoted, too late as the infuriated dwarf king lunging towards him, sword drawn.  
The collision of the two was an earth shattering experience that sent the hobbit reeling. 

Lyla’s torn jacket ripped further, as Thorin slammed into Azog’s pale form, sending the orc sideways and Lyla tumbling into the river, the orc and dwarf landing on top of the hobbit, forcing the air from her lungs with the cold water washing over her head and her back landing awkwardly among the rocks. Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her to the side as her head broke the surface. She noted two blurs rolling past her in the water, as she lay blessedly forgotten for the moment. Her hands grasped at the smoothed stones beneath her palms, trying to gain traction in order to rise.

She let out a hiss of pain as her left hand found a grip on something sharp.

Lyla gazed down and her eyes widened in shock as she raised her little sword from the water, the crimson of her blood dripping down her palm and wrist and splashing into the water, blending with the cool, clear liquid. 

But another roar of anger startled the hobbit—dashing curious glances at her sword aside—and she rolled in the shallow water, climbing to her knees and scampered onto dry ground as she took in the scene before her.

Thorin was charging Azog, Elvish sword drawn, his lips pulling back to reveal a snarl, crystal blue eyes narrowed in contempt for the pale orc. 

Azog only stood there, smirking, a dark chuckle reverberating from his throat.

Lyla’s heart twisted painfully. 

This is what the orc had wanted all along. Another confrontation with Thorin. 

Another chance to kill him.

Oh Aule help her.

Help him.

She cringed as Azog charged forward and connected a blow to Thorin’s shoulder with his claw, sending Thorin’s arm reeling backwards, nearly causing the dwarf to lose his sword. Azog then brought his claw downward, slicing through the dwarf’s tunic and into the flesh of his lower arm. Thorin hissed in pain, his teeth gritted, eyes blazing, but he tightened his grip and pushed back against Azog, raw determination sweeping across his face.

And, Thorin, to Lyla’s surprise, was very agile in the water. Even as the frigid water rushed past his knees, his feet remained firm as he twisted his upper body to dodge the orc’s continual onslaught of frenzied advances. With taught muscles, the dwarf swung upwards as Azog brought his clawed arm down, clashing metal to metal. Baring his teeth, he let out a low growl and pressed his shoulders forward, increasing the weight behind his sword, forcing Azog back and stumbling into the river. 

But the orc had one more trick up his sleeve.

Even as he fell, Azog thrust his arm outward and grasped onto Thorin’s tunic. The dwarf’s surprised cry echoed in Lyla’s ears as she watched Thorin’s sturdy stance falter, as Azog’s weight pulled him down into the water. 

A scream tore at her throat as she stumbled to her feet.

This was…

Not good. 

Not good at all. 

Then she was darting back into the water, towards the fight, small sword in hand, fingers slick with her own blood, advancing towards the creature who’d tried to kill her only moments ago.

She ran towards him. 

Even as she heard her name being called for her to halt.

“Lyla!”

“Don’t!”

“Come back!”

Even as she recognized the voices, voices of the company, behind her. 

Her family was calling to her.

But she wouldn’t just stay on the banks of the river and watch Thorin die.

She was closer than they were. She could move faster than they could. She’d get there first. 

Isn’t that what mattered most?

Azog had managed to pin the struggling dwarf beneath the water, his fingers pressed over Thorin’s mouth, his legs pinning the dwarf’s arms.

Lyla noted the rich ebony locks floating, mixing together with the water. 

Fury ignited in her chest, stifling the panic and horror she felt.

How dare he!

She wouldn’t let him.

And so intent was Azog on finally succeeding at his goal to kill Thorin, that he neglected the hobbit.

Again. 

Foolish orc.

“Get off him!”

With a small, fierce cry, she launched herself atop the orc.

Faintly she could hear splashing in the background.

Azog roared and reared backwards, trying to buck Lyla off his back. His arm reached upward, releasing Thorin long enough to allow the dwarf to gasp for air, and he clawed at  
Lyla, trying to get her to move.

But she wouldn’t. 

Not until Thorin was free.

Curse her and her stubborn Tookish blood. 

It was a miracle she’d lived this long. She was rubbish with a sword and petrified of the creature before her.

And yet here she was again staring at potential death.

Well, no matter…

She brought her sword upwards, as Azog snarled and snapped at her, reaching for her collar.

And sliced through the orc’s remaining fingers.

Lyla’s eyes widened and she gasped in shock as blood smattered her face, the missing appendages falling like small white stones into the water. 

Oh, Aule she thought she might be sick.

Azog let out a deafening roar and twisted his body, falling backwards, throwing Lyla off of him. His claw swung around and connected with the hobbit’s arm. 

She went splashing into the water, her head cracking against something, sending stars before her eyes. Her grip loosened, and bubbles escaped her mouth as her vision went fuzzy as she gazed at the swirling mass of colors surrounding her. 

The water was distorting her perception of images, with colors blending together.

Her lungs were starting to hurt.

She needed to surface.

But, for some reason, she couldn’t make her limbs move properly. She felt her body tumbling in the water, moving further downstream.

Then someone grabbed a hold of her waist and was propelling her forward, and upward. Her head broke the surface and she was pressed against a log trapped against the bank. 

“I’ve got you little hobbit,” Legolas’ voice murmured in her ear as she let out a relieved sigh.

“Legolas,” she breathed tiredly, numbly, “Thank Aule for that.”

"Stay with me little hobbit. Stay awake."

*****  
Thorin rolled onto his stomach, rising from the frigid water, his fury blazing. He turned to face Azog who was still howling with fury and agony, the missing digits of his hand still gushing blackened blood. 

Thorin’s eyes narrowed further as he spied Lyla’s letter opener of a sword wedged between two large rocks.

That foolish, stupid, brave hobbit. How many times was she going to put her life at risk for him?

And here he was trying to save HER. 

Confound her stubbornness. 

But then his fury reignited in his veins as he noted what Azog had done to her and he grasped the tiny sword in his large hand and stalked towards Azog, teeth bared and snarling.  
“You dare to hurt her!” He thundered, “You dare to strike her?”

He brought the small blade down, as Azog parried with his clawed arm, a grimace on the orc’s face. 

He no longer had the use of his good hand.

Thorin surged forward, shoving the orc, forcing Azog to stumble.

“You took my grandfather,” He snapped, his anguish and fury rising, “You drove my father away.”

He swung the sword around and connected with Azog’s shoulder. 

The orc let out a low growl and moved away from the infuriated dwarf.

But Thorin would have none of it.

“You tried to kill me. More than once!” He hissed, his swing cutting upwards, slicing into Azog’s other shoulder. 

The orc howled in agony and swung his claw towards Thorin, nicking the dwarf’s shoulder and knocking him sideways so that Thorin stumbled

But Thorin hardly felt it. His eyes burned with hatred for this parasite, this nuisance, the bottom feeding vile scum. He straightened himself and watched as Azog prepared to strike again, a growl building in the orc’s throat.

Thorin beat him to the punch.

He lunged forward, straight at the orc, who was hissing and growling, bringing Lyla’s sword to his left.

Burying it in the orc’s belly.

Azog’s eyes widened and a gurgling, choking noise bubbled from his lips. Thorin removed the sword as Azog tried, half-heartedly to claw at the dwarf king, even as his knees buckled and he knelt in the water. 

“And you dared to harm her,” Thorin spat venomously, “You dared to harm an innocent. She was nothing to you. And you dared to strike her.” 

He growled.

“Never again. Never again will you touch those I love.” 

Thorin raised the small elvish sword back readying his swing.

Azog turned his face upwards, his glare defiant and goading as he raised his metal claw once more to strike the dwarf king.

Thorin’s stroke fell.

And with it, Azog the Defiler. 

The pale orc dropped slowly into the water, his blue eyes dimmed in death, dark thick blood pooling around Thorin’s knees in the water. 

Thorin stood panting, glaring at the water, willing the pale orc to defy and rise once more. 

He would not let that foul creature rise. Not again.

Not this time.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Thorin jerked around, sword at the ready.

Balin dodged the intended blow with ease, a small, grim smile on his wearied face.

“Laddie,” he murmured, reaching slowly for Lyla’s sword, “It’s done. It’s done.”

Thorin’s grip loosened around the hilt and he gazed about in wonder, his vision startlingly clear, brightly colored, crisp.

He noted the company on the bank of the river helping someone out of the water.

Two someones.

A tall blonde elf (for what else could he be?) was rising slowly from the rushing depths of the water, cradling a small bundle.

Dripping curls, a small button nose, raspberry colored lips, delicate fingers attached to impossibly tiny hands and wrists. 

A tiny pale hobbit lass, dressed as a man.

“Lyla,” he whispered surging forward towards the gathering dwarrows.

They parted when they noticed him standing there and Thorin quickly tore to Lyla’s side as she sat cradled in the elf’s arms.

His hands came up, of their own accord, and tenderly grasped either side of Lyla’s head. He felt a sticky residue and pulled his hand away to note a dark crimson staining his fingers.

He placed his fingers gently into Lyla’s curls and tilted the hobbits head so that her eyes were facing him.

“Look at me,” he commanded quietly, “Look at me Lyla.”

The hobbit’s unfocused gaze settled as she peered at Thorin. A small frown flitted over his face as he gazed back.

“Confound it all, why would you do that? What were you thinking?” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered at the touch, “Did I not say that you were unfit for this journey? Did I not say that you would be a burden?”

Some in the company started to protest. The elf tightened his grip on the small creature in his arms.

“I said you were unfit for the wild, unfit for this quest.” 

Thorin’s hands slid down Lyla’s neck until they rested upon her shoulders and he shook her slightly.

And then pulled her forward, out of the elf’s grasp and into his arms, wrapping them tightly around the small frame of the hobbit who had saved his life repeatedly. 

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life,” He murmured into her hair, “I am sorry. I am so sorry I doubted you.”

And he held the small hobbit close to his chest as sobs wracked her body, whispering words of gratitude and comfort and peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, no cliffhanger this chapter...that's different right? We actually sort of ended on a somewhat stable note. You like it? 
> 
> Let me know!
> 
> And go take a gander at these amazing stories: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's awesome 'Good Morning'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And chappysmoms amazing crossover 'There and Back'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	35. Safe and Secure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, confessions, and conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thank you for all the support for the last few chapters. That was quite the roller coaster ride wasn't it? Goodness. Once I finished the last chapter I felt this weight sort of lift of my shoulders. It was a tense, emotional writing experience. 
> 
> But here's another chapter for you! Sort of a Segway chapter of sorts, if you will. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy it!
> 
> Here's the song for the chapter if you're interested: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/sQ9NOV3KNpY

Long after the sobs subsided and her tears were spent, Lyla sat curled into a warm embrace, staring idly at the scratchy fabric of a dark blue tunic. She noted flecks of yellow thread interspersed with the damp blue cloth. Tiny stitches that ran like seams of gold through an ocean created an intricate pattern that Lyla had never noticed before. It was all rather beautiful, in a subtle way. 

It reminded her of the flowers along the pathway near her smial. They grew wild in the summertime and she always marveled at their simple, understated beauty.

It certainly was a peaceful thought at least.

And all the while, as she entertained thoughts of tunics and thread and flowers, shudders wracked her body and gooseflesh encased her arms.

But she didn’t let her mind drift to anything other than studying the stitching of the fabric in her field of vision and listening to the slow rhythmic ‘thump thump’ reverberating in her ear. 

No. She wouldn’t dwell on it. 

She forced the memory back down. Down into the depths of the deepest lake. Hidden in the far reaches of her mind.

She focused on the arms encircled about her shoulders, the fingers running gently through her hair. And the constant ‘thump, thump, thump,’ next to her ear.

It was soothing, calming.

It was just what she needed. ..

And she would enjoy it. She would revel in the sweet simplicity of feeling safe again. 

Just for a moment.

She closed her eyes and focused on the beating of a heart and the soft, warm breath ghosting over her cheek.

And she did feel safe. 

*****

Thorin sat quietly, cradling the quaking hobbit (whose shivers had yet to abate), his fingers running idly through thick blonde curls, soft as spider silk as he listened to Lyla’s breathing slow, and even out, her hiccoughs and gasps subsiding into soft sighs and expulsions of air. 

The little hobbit was contented and calm.

For now.

But even as he took comfort in the small creature nestled in his arms, reveling in the knowledge that he’d managed to assuage her tearful come apart (a sight that had sent his heart plummeting to the bottom of his soles), his heart still hammered furiously in his ears and a deep seeded regret anchored his heart downward. 

He took note of the blood trickling from beneath her short hair, as well as the long gash that ran across her hand, dripping blood onto his tunic, staining it a deep, rich red. 

But his heart nearly stopped as he looked once again to the delicate throat of the small hobbit, whose eyes were mercifully closed. He noted more dark angry bruises forming on pale skin. 

Azog had tried to choke her again. 

Again.

Curse that black-blooded, filthy-

He clenched his jaw and scowled.

Oh Mahal, how could have been so blind?

So stubborn? 

So…

Wrong.

So utterly and completely wrong?

But then, as he gazed at the hobbit’s thin, delicate throat, he spied something else. Something unusual. Thorin furrowed his brows in curiosity and turned his head a little peering at the oddly familiar object with confusion. 

A thin piece of leather served as a necklace. And while not all together unusual or curious, it was what was ON that necklace that held Thorin’s attention. For on that necklace was  
a small, delicate ring with a blue stone. 

A small delicate ring, with a blue stone that he knew well. 

A small delicate ring, with a blue stone that HE had made.

The ring he had made for his sister. 

For Dis.

He remembered it well. He’d given it to her on her wedding day. A gift from Mahal. 

For protection and good health all her days.

He also remembered the day that she’d given it to Kili. 

The day before she’d—

Thorin shook his head, forcing those thoughts back down. Refusing to allow those images to bombard him.

‘Not here. Not now. Not after almost—‘

He brought Lyla closer to his chest and placed a kiss atop her head, his nose buried in her damp locks, and closed his eyes to hide his anguish. Oh he’d been so stupid. 

Loyalty.

Honor.

A willing heart.

‘I could ask no more than that.’ He had spoken those words to Balin back at Bag End (back in Lyla’s hallway). 

So why did it take him so long to see the wiling sacrifices of one little hobbit?

And more importantly, how could he ever repay her? How could he ever make amends?

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” He murmured again into her hair.

“Aye it’s about time ye said that,” Dwalin’s voice was soft as he knelt next to the dwarf king and his charge, placing a gentle hand on the dwarf king’s shoulder gazing fondly down at Lyla, “I’d say she’s been deservin’ that apology for awhile now, aye?”

The warrior dwarf, cast a sidelong glance at Thorin, who swallowed back the pang of guilt. 

Dwalin was right of course.

He’d been right the whole time.

And Thorin was certain that his friend would NEVER let him forget this fact. 

Ever. 

“Yes, I suppose she did deserve that a long time ago,” He murmured to his oldest comrade quietly, wary of disturbing the gentle breathing pattern of the creature in his arms.  


She needed rest. 

“And I don’t suppose ye’ll be dashin’ off and leavin’ her here the fend for herself again will ye?” Bofur quipped, his normally jovial eyes hardened, one eyebrow quirked upwards, challenging the dwarf king.

He noted how the attention of the rest of the dwarves had pivoted to him, their gazes questioning and frowning. Daring him to refuse refuge for the one who had saved all their lives.

Thorin shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips, even as remorse gnawed at his insides.

What a faithful band of followers the little hobbit had acquired. It seemed she could command loyalty better than the highest official.

“Indeed not, master Bofur,” Thorin remarked lowly, his emotions still a whirlwind as he tightened his grip on his hobbit bundle, “I could not leave her here. I have been wrong on many scores, but never this terribly. No, she has more than earned her place amongst this company. And we are nothing, if not protective of each other.”

A low murmur of agreement swept through the group. Thorin noted the bright (if haggard) smiles Fili and Kil exuded.

“Splendid!” Kili exclaimed coming forward quietly, “I was going to be rather upset with you, uncle, if you had tried to refuse.”

Kili knelt in front of Thorin and his eyes swept down to Lyla’s huddled form. And he smiled at the little creature fondly, “She’s like a little sister now,” he murmured, reaching forward and fingering a tuft of blonde hair.

“So that is why you gave her the ring?” Thorin questioned quietly, gazing at his youngest nephew.

Kili laughed lightly, “One of the reasons yes. But the real reason,” his gaze turned serious as it drifted to Thorin’s face, “The real reason I gave her that ring because she saved your life. Because she saved all our lives from the trolls. And because,” He scratched the back of his head, “Because she, she reminds me of mother.”  
Kili’s face turned contemplative and pained, his eyes darkening and a small thoughtful pout gracing his lips, “In so many was she’s like mother was. In how she treats others. In how she…” He blew out a puff of air, “I don’t rightly know. I just—she deserved that ring. She’s the protector of this company.”

Oh.

Thorin’s throat constricted.

He’d never supposed that Kili held such an attachment before now. 

And he’d never taken time to see. 

To see what Kili saw.

Until now.

Until he’d nearly lost someone.

“I find it very disconcerting,” A soft, lilting voice startled Thorin. He looked up to see the elf (Legolas was it?) staring at Thorin intently, brows knit and a strange look on his face, “That you left a member of your company behind to begin with. And a woman no less. Have you no reverence for women at all?”

Thorin bristled at the comment.

“You don’t understand any of what has gone on elf,” he growled, “I did it for her own good.”

“And what good did it do her exactly?” Legolas remarked quietly, his gazed turning thoughtful as he looked down at Lyla, “It appears that you had underestimated the small 

creature, pushed her away, and abused her abominably. Why would you have done this to someone who has done so much for you?”

Thorin glowered at the elf, but said nothing. 

He knew now that he had been wrong. So terribly wrong. 

But he didn’t need to admit that to an elf.

No. Never an elf.

The idea was absurd really.

“Aye, and what would an elf have to say of it?” Dwalin grumbled as he came to Thorin’s defense, though he more than anyone knew of Thorin’s misguided attempts at protecting those he cared for. “If I remember correctly, it was the elves who imprisoned our company and it was one of your own that nearly killed that lass there.”  
Dwalin was nearly snarling at Legolas by this point.

“Galion,” Legolas mutterd, realization dawning. His eyes narrowing as he looked back to Lyla, “Not the wisest of elves, that is for certain.” His gaze drifted up to Thorin’s surprised one (For Thorin had not heard of Lyla’s encounter with such an elf), “For his part I humbly apologize. But I hope that the actions of some of us will persuade your company of the elves’ general good nature.”

Thorin gave Legolas a hard look, suspicion coursing through his veins. Why had he…?

“Why did you help her?” He questioned, “She’d been hiding in your hall for weeks. She helped us escape. What would tie you to her to the point that you’d protect her?”  
Thorin’s eyes narrowed at the elf expectantly.

Legolas smirked, “I suspect she helped you out before you were ‘escorted’ into my father’s halls,” he snorted softly, “Imagine. A hobbit besting giant spiders. I never thought it possible.”

“Aye, but possible it most certainly was,” Gloing retorted a bit heatedly, “Fought those wretched creatures, she did, all by her lonesome too. What a sight it was, I tell you.”

Thorin’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn't known about that little hobbit tale.

This hobbit was full of surprises it seemed.

And the entire company was indebted to her for many things.

“There are several reasons why I helped her,” Legolas admitted quietly, “One of which concerned the spiders. But I believe that this should be a conversation between myself and the lady perhaps?”

Thorin’s arms tightened infinitesimally around Lyla’s shoulders as he made to protest. 

“And why should we trust you elf?” He snapped, wary. 

Legolas held his hand up, trying to placate the battle-wearied dwarf king.

“If it’s all the same to you, Master Oakenshield,” he whispered, his gaze flicking back towards Lyla, “Might we set our feud aside to help a mutual friend? Hobbits aren’t as hardy a folk as you or I. We need to get her warmed up and she’ll need a tending to before those wounds fester. Which means we’ll need to get to Laketown before too long.” 

Thorin’s gaze returned to the little hobbit who as still shivering in his arms. 

He sighed.

“Yes of course.”

*****

“Lyla,” Someone what murmuring her name in her ear, pulling her back from the blessed oblivion her mind had retreated to.

“Lass?”

Cool hands on her forehead.

A gentle nudge on her shoulders.

Warm breath on her cheek.

Lyla’s eyes fluttered open and she gazed confusedly at Dwalin.

Dwalin who knelt before her, concern written in his eyes, his brows furrowed, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.

“Lass are ye with me?”

“Hmm?” She remarked straightening up a little. She felt …odd.

“Lass,” Dwalin said again, “Are ye alright?”

Lyla gazed around at the company members, noting that some were starting a fire away from the banks of the river. Legolas had a bundle of kindling in his arms, towering over the Bofur Gloin and Ori who were slowly building up the flames. The rest were further upstream converged around…something.

Her gaze returned to the glowing embers, the orange flames licking the dry kindling. Her fingers twitched and her shivers increased.

“You’re still shivering,” a voice was in her ear. And it registered in her head that she was curled into someone’s embrace. Warm, strong arms. A firm, steady grip that encircled her completely, and nestled her cheek against a warm chest.

Thorin. 

Unbidden the face of a pale snarling monster flashed in her mind and Lyla sat up straighter and stiffened, trying to calm her beating heart. 

‘It’s alright,’ she reminded herself, her fist clenching. It was fine. 

He was safe. 

They were all safe.

“Are you alright?” Thorin broke through her thoughts as his arms grasped her shoulders, his rich blue eyes peering into her own. His voice had taken on an edge to it and he frowned at her silence. “Lyla?”

She closed her eyes for a minute and willed the thoughts down, forced them away.

“I’m alright,” she murmured shivering, “I’m fine.”

"I'm fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Thoughts? Feelings? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> And the next chapter will be up later today. It's really late/early for me. Don't know WHY I'm still awake...but here I am! 
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> And take a trip over to these fics for some amazing reading: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's fic 'Good Morning' is a splendid, wonderful au fem!bilbo  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> and chappysmom's fic 'There and Back' is an amazing crossover fic featuring The Hobbit and Sherlock  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	36. Stifling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overprotective gaggle of dwarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really early here, but here's another chapter for you to enjoy. I hope you do! I really truly do. You readers are amazing and so kind and I could go on with my expulsions of gratitude...
> 
> But thank you for the kudos and the comments and all the love! It's greatly appreciated.

Thorin sat upon a rock, downstream a little way from the throng of dwarves carrying about, his gaze trained on the small fire that his company had managed to start. 

A sense of pride filled him at their unflappable nature and ingenuity. 

More specifically, though, Thorin’s gaze was trained on the shivering little creature who was sitting in front of the flames, curled in on herself, head bent low.

Lyla sat unmoving in the same spot Dwalin had guided her to, with her knees pulled close, her chin resting atop them, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as she huddled near the warmth of the fire, staring into the rich orange flames that crackled and snapped as they consumed the dried branches. 

Thorin noticed when she winced and jerked her head to the side as Oin’s fingers danced over the wound hidden beneath her hair. He’d already wrapped the the wound on her hand in a bit of torn cloth. And there was nothing he could really do for the blossoming bruises on her throat.

“Ye’ll have to hold still lass,” Oin grumbled in mild annoyance, grasping Lyla’s head gently to still her. “I can’t see anythin’ if yer movin’ about.”

A scowl worked its way onto Thorin’s face and the dull roar of fury started to bubble up again.

If Azog were still alive…

Thorin let out a huff of air and cast his gaze upward at the trees. Mahal help him. This stream of thought was getting him nowhere. He would be much more useful putting his energy into taking care of the issues at hand rather than dwelling on the past. 

His eyes flicked over to Lyla again.

The first issue to take care of was to stop that insufferable shivering the hobbit was doing. The elf (and Thorin sneered at the thought) had pointed out that Lyla was far more likely than they to suffer some adverse effects from their trip down the river. She was not as hardy or impervious to climate changes as the dwarves or elves were. 

‘They are easily affected by the cold,’ he had remarked quietly, ‘And with her open wounds, she could become rather ill if we don’t act soon.’

Thorin snorted. He could see it for himself in every shiver and shudder that the little hobbit exhibited. He wasn’t blind. He saw how delicate she was. 

He saw that she needed to be taken care of. 

And so the dwarves had rallied, most willingly, to get a fire going and dispose of…unwanted reminders of what had happened only a short time ago. They wanted to afford every comfort to their hobbit, even if it was so little an offering such as a bit of warmth and friendly guards to watch over her.

But even as the fire crackled merrily, Lyla’s shivers only subsided marginally. And they couldn’t stay where they were for long. They needed supplies. They had no food and relief from their journey. They needed to head to a settlement and get reorganized, recuperated and ready to head to Erebor. 

Right now, though? Right now they just needed warm beds and hot meals in their bellies. 

He gazed at the little hunched figure by the fire once more, a strange feeling filling his chest. 

They needed to take care of her. 

He needed to take care of her. 

Make amends. Make things right. 

Erebor could wait a little longer.

*****  
Oin had finally left her in peace, his mother hen act ceasing for the time being. But, now, to Lyla’s befuddlement, she had different company bombarding her with questions and attention. Fili and Kili flanked either side of her, trying to keep her warm.

And talk her ear off apparently.

“Mistress Boggins, how are you feeling?” Kili pestered again and again, “Is there anything you need?”

And Fili was right there trying to hush his brother. “Can’t you see that she’s not in the mood for conversation Kili!” he hissed across her face, towards his brother, “Just be quiet for a few moments.”

“But I just want to make sure she’s alright!”

“Leave her be. You don't make sure someone's alright by shouting in their ear.”

“I want to take care of her! Mistress Boggins deserves our attention, especially after everything that’s happened.”

“Not if it’s annoying Kili. What good will annoying her do anyone?”

“I am NOT annoying.”

“Could have fooled me,” Fili snorted, “As it is she just needs some quiet. Right Mistress Baggins?”

“Sorry, hmm?” she murmured distractedly her gaze drifting towards Fili’s furrowed brows. She’d only been half listening to their conversation. She’d only been half listening to anything really. 

Her mind was muddled, heavy, and tired. 

She supposed it was still a bit waterlogged.

And she was purposely trying to avoid thinking too hard on certain events. Azog, Thorin, the river, Thranduil’s halls…

Her shudders rocketed through her body. She needed to forget those things. At least for now.

It was for the best. 

Fili gave her a gentle look and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, as worry creased his brow, “Are you alright? You look rather pale.”

“Fine,” she murmured, “I’m fine.”

No use in worrying them over nothing really. 

She would be fine.

She would.

“Don’t worry Mistress Boggins,”

“Baggins Kili. It’s Baggins.”

“Baggins, then,” Kili smiled at Lyla, “We’ll take good care of you!”

Lyla curled in on herself a little more and smiled into her knees. 

These two were incorrigible. 

The trio lapsed into a comfortable silence. 

For a moment at least.

“Are you sure you’re alright Mistress Boggins?”

Lyla groaned inwardly.

*****

A short while later, Bofur and Ori were the next ones to sit by her side as Fili and Kili went with the elf Legolas to scout the terrain ahead per Thorin’s request. 

Bofur draped his arm around her still shivering form, plopping his hat atop her head much to Lyla’s surprise.

Bofur never parted with his hat.

“You don’t need to give this to me…” 

“Yer lookin’ mighty cold there little one,” Bofur remarked drily, pulling Lyla back gently, until she was nestled near his side. “I’ll not have you freezin’ yer ears off.” 

“I’m fine,” she remarked, her voice muffled by the sleeve of Bofur’s jacket. “I’m fine.”

“Are you-are you sure?” Ori’s hesitant voice wafted into Lyla’s ear, “You don’t look like you’re fine Miss Baggins. Rather pale actually.”  
Oh Ori. 

Sweet Ori.

Lyla smiled and turned to face the hesitant, shy dwarf on her right. He looked at her with reddened cheeks and a half smile on his face as he ducked his head.

“Yes,” she murmured quietly in response, giving him a bigger smile in thanks, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Aye,” Bofur nudged her head back against his shoulder, tightening his arms around her, “Maybe not yet, but ye will be.”

*****

“Mistress Baggins? Lyla?”

Lyla’s eyes fluttered open and she nearly tipped backwards in surprise, wincing as her head pounded behind her eyes. Her clothes felt stiff, her muscles aching.

Thorin Oakenshield was crouched in front of her, his face a few inches from her own, his blue eyes glittering with an intensity that sent Lyla reeling.

When had he gotten there? 

Had she fallen asleep?

“Easy lass,” Bofur murmured, tightening his grip and helping her to straighten up. “Oi, that’s a fine way to wake someone up yer majesty.”   
Bofur sounded indignant as he addressed Thorin.

To his credit (and Lyla’s incredulity) the dwarf king looked a bit remorseful.

“Sorry,” he murmured and then his eyes hardened a little as he gazed at her, “We need to get moving. Are you alright to walk?”

“Y-“ Lyla swallowed back the scratchiness in her throat, “Yes of course. Of course.”

Thorin stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed, assessing. 

And then he sighed and rose to his feet slowly, keeping a firm gaze on Lyla’s face. 

“Yes. Yes of course,” he mimicked her earlier phrase, “Master Bofur, I’ll leave you in charge of her welfare for now?”

Lyla’s head came up in surprise.

What?

“Aye yer majesty,” Bofur remarked, helping Lyla to her feet, keeping a firm grip around the hobbit’s waist, “I’ll be right be her side. Never you fear.”

“That’s not really necessary-“ Lyla started.

Thorin gave her a firm look.

“I beg to differ on that score my dear,” he remarked quietly and resolutely as he straightened his coat.

Lyla bristled at his tone.

“I beg to differ,” She mimicked him this time, wincing as the words felt garbled in her mouth, “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Thorin titled his head thoughtfully, and stepped closer to Lyla, the distance between them growing very small. 

She could feel his warm breath on her face as he peered down at her, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Lyla replied confidently, pushing the tickle in her throat back. She was fine. She didn’t need them to worry about her. They had more important things to do.   
Honestly.

Thorin stepped even closer to Lyla and her heart started hammering.

“I,” his words were low and careful as his blue eyes glittered challengingly, “I would really reconsider that statement my dear. You’re face is flushed, you’re shivering and her gaze is unfocused. It’s a safe option keeping Bofur with you. And I’ll not brook any further argument from you. You seem to have no sense of self-preservation.

Lyla’s eyes widened and a frown formed on her lips. 

Had he really just…?

Did he…?

She narrowed her eyes and glowered at the dwarf king.

“I’m fine.” She muttered, her nose twitching. “I’m perfectly-“

She sneezed.

Bofur chuckled.

Thorin smirked. 

“Indeed,” he remarked.

Bother. 

*****  
Lyla felt smothered as they made their way down the bank of the river, towards the settlement that Legolas called Laketown.

Apparently the elf had scaled one of the tall pines in the forest and spotted the distance from his perch. 

What confused Lyla was why Legolas was still helping them. He had no ties to their quest. And weren’t the elves and the dwarves supposed to despise one another? Thorin, in particular, Lyla was certain, would have found ill favor with an elf tagging along on any portion of the journey, no matter how small the timeframe might be, especially considering   
that the elf following along towards Laketown was, in fact, Thranduil’s son.

It made no sense. 

Despite her confused thoughts, however, she did take comfort in Legolas’ report. 

“It’s only a few leagues away from here,” he had remarked, “If we make good time, we could be there by nightfall.”

‘Nightfall? That didn’t seem so far away’ Lyla had thought at first. Even though she was tired, her head muddled and her joints aching. She could make that distance.  
She’d gladly walk that distance if it meant the hope of a warm bed tonight.

That sounded glorious.

Yes. She could do this.

But once they’d gotten underway, however, she was rethinking her optimism. 

Her aches increased with each step she took, her exhaustion making her stumble. All she wanted to do was find a nice warm blanket and curl up somewhere, anywhere.

But what baffled her was the fact that despite her protests that she was capable of looking after herself (even as she sneezed repeatedly), she was surrounded by dwarves! At least two on each side of her, boxing her in like stalwart sentinels or guards. Bofur and Dwalin were on her left, casting curious glances her way every few moments with, while Nori and Balin on the other side peppered her with the same questions:

“Are ye alright?”

“Do we need to rest for a bit?”

“Are ye sure yer alright?”

Lyla was completely baffled by their stifling behavior. It was driving her mad really. They wouldn’t even let her carry her own things! Dwalin carried Lyla’s small sword and absolutely ignored her whenever she stated that she was perfectly capable of carry anything, the dwarves would nod their heads and ignore her again. .

Didn’t they trust her to take care of herself?

Lyla sighed.

Dwarves. 

The stubborn, confusing company was enough to zap the rest of Lyla’s energy.

She bit back a yawn and stumbled as her foot connected with a rock. 

Hands instantly steadied her and a gaggle of dwarves converged around her, helping her to the ground, their faces pressed tightly around her, peering at her carefully as   
concerned questions floating into her ears.

“What’s going on?”

“Are ye hurt lass?”

“Should we stop?”  
“She’s IS a bit warm, perhaps we should look for some soothing herbs?”

“I’m fine.” She murmured trying to stand, “Just a bit clumsy is all.”

She tried to push her way up, but two pairs of arms hoisted her to her feet instead. 

What in Eru’s name was going with these blasted dwarves?!

“I’m fine,” Lyla repeated, trying to pull away from Dwalin’s and Nori’s grasps, “Truly.”

The dwarves ignored her.

“Perhaps someone should carry her then?” Balin suggested sagely.

“Ah but I have a better suggestion.”

Lyla and the rest of the company froze—words left unspoken, conversations halted mid-sentence—as a tall man stepped from the bushes, his dark hair and clothing allowing his the blend in with the scenery quite effectively.

They dwarves much have overlooked him while they say debating about Lyla’s welfare

Lyla wanted to roll her eyes.

And would have had not the man been pointing an arrow at her.

“I suggest that perhaps it is time you explain your presence here.” The man gazed around the group , calculating and analyzing. “What business do dwarves, an elf, and,” He peered at Lyla for a moment, eyes narrowed in curiosity, “and this…creature have wandering through the woods near Laketown?”   
Creature?!

Lyla huffed even as she sniffled, her head feeling a bit stuffy.

“I’ll have you know,” she grumbled lowly, “that I am a hobbit.” 

The man quirked his head slightly to one side gazing at Lyla with an air of suspicion. His bow was still taut and waiting for an arrow to be released. 

“A Hobbit you say? Hmm…” The man peered down his nose at Lyla, “And what business do you have here in the East then, hobbit?”  
The company tightened around Lyla, trying to shield her from the arrow pointed at her chest.

“Er well, uh..” 

How did Lyla explain this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. The dwarves are getting a tad more overprotective of little Lyla. 
> 
> And here are some amazing fics that I highly recommend: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's fic 'Good Morning' is an emotional and amazing story that will have you on the edge of your seat:   
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And chappysmoms fic 'There and back featuring John Watson in a mash-up of Sherlock and The Hobbit. :)  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	37. The Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master of Laketown makes an appearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Here's another chapter for you to enjoy! And I certainly hope that you actually do enjoy it. Not very much action, but rather a more subtle exchange going on. 
> 
> A big thank you to all of you who left kudos, comments or even read this story! It means a lot. :)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the story! And listen to these songs to get an idea of the emotions I was trying to capture with this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/ghT5EsSiLFk  
> http://youtu.be/JSymJl1czYs

“Well?” the dark haired man’s voice held a bite to it as he narrowed his gaze at Lyla, “What have you to say then halfling?”

Lyla narrowed her eyes in return, meeting the challenging gaze that the man had thrown at her, “I am half of nothing.” She muttered, “And as it is, I come on this quest by request of an old friend and in the aid of new ones.” 

And then she sneezed. 

“And what is this quest you speak of. We’ve not had dealings with dwarves in quite some time,” The man remarked, his gaze still narrowed, though curiousity shone in his brown eyes. 

“You’re a man from Laketown if I’m not mistaken,” Balin interjected coming to stand at the head of the group as someone pulled her gently deeper into the folds of the company’s collective embrace.

“What of it?” The man remarked contemptuously.

“Perhaps we can come to an accord of some kind?” Balin suggesting, playing the peacekeeping delegate role with perfection. His calm demeanor and kind eyes gave him an air of trust.

One that the man with his hair pulled back and eyes narrowed, didn’t seem to approve of. He gazed at the white-haired dwarf cautiously.

“I do not know of any ‘accord’ that can be reached with a group of travel wearied dwarves who’ve got naught but a penny to their name.”

“I believe what my companion means to suggest, is that we may have a similar interest, man of Laketown,” Thorin’s voice carried the air of authority and majesty Lyla had come to find inherent in his character, as he stepped forward next to Balin, while the rest of the company rallied behind him, shielding the hobbit from the arrow in the man’s bow. “I am Thorin some of Thrain son of Thror, rightful king under the mountain.”

“And what if,” the man retorted, his voice dripping with contempt as realization dawned in his demeanor, “what if, Master Thorin, we are not aligned in a common cause? What if I simply choose to strike your company down now?”

Legolas, to Lyla’s utter surprise, was suddenly in front of the company, his own bow drawn aiming at the bowman before him, eyes narrowed in contempt. 

“Then you would die before your stroke fell.”

Why was he protecting them?

“We come to reclaim our homeland,” Thorin remarked unruffled by the growing tension between himself, Legolas and the dark-haired man, “Surely the people of Laketown could benefit from this quest as well?”

The dark haired man deflated at Thorin’s declaration, a deep frown upon his features as he lowered his bow. “If you awaken that beast, you will destroy us all,” He murmured, his eyes betraying the worry he must have felt. “Your coming, I fear, brings more harm than good to my people.”

Lyla’s heart hitched at the sight and she wondered, as she did in Thranduil’s halls, if Thorin considered the possible repercussions his actions could cause. How many lives might this endeavor cost?

A shiver wracked her body and Bofur pulled her closer, rubbing his hand on her shoulder affectionately. 

“I have a duty and a right to my home,” Thorin remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly, a frown tugging at his mouth, “You cannot expect me to sit idly by and ignore the plight of my people. We deserve our homeland. The reign of the beast must end.”

“And if you fail, what then?” The man asked, bitterness seeping into his voice as he stepped closer, “What happens if the dragon awakens and you are defeated? What happens if it wrath is inflicted upon the innocent of Laketown? Would you really send the guiltless to the slaughter?”

Lyla's worry spiked when Thorin didn't answer.

But the bowman was the only one who seemed to hold a wariness for the dwarves and their quest to reclaim Erebor.

“That’s enough if you please!” A high nasally voice commanded as a tall, plump man with graying hair an and beady bird eyes stepped from the bushes to stand near the man with the bow, “Why do you harass guests of Laketown with your fanciful questions and superstitious attitude?”

‘Fanciful questions?’ 

None of those questions had sounded fanciful to Lyla’s ears. They were all rather logical if anyone were to ask her. 

“What are you doing here Egarion?” The bowman sighed in frustration, “Can you not trust me to do my patrols without feeling the need to interfere?”

The fat Egarion scoffed and wiped his obviously sweaty hand on the lapels of his jacket, “Hardly. You’ve already proved your uselessness tonight by harassing these travelers! Travelers that have brought the most fortunate news!”

Then Lyla’s ears picked up the excited murmur that swept through the trees as at least a dozen men stepped forward, their eyes alight and smiles gracing their features. Her eyes widened at the sheer number of people who had surrounded them without their knowledge. And each man was armed with fine weapons, whether they be a bow or a sword, suggesting, to the weary hobbit, that the inhabitants of Laketown were a suspicious bunch who would were not afraid to fight. 

“It’s the sign!” One man, a short balding fellow with a scruffy grey beard whispered, “The Master had said that we should be aware of the sign! And here, the Dwarves of Erebor return!”

A low echoing of ‘hurrahs’ floated about as a few of the group slowly advanced towards the now surprised dwarves. 

The dark-haired fellow, Lyla noted, appeared rather displeased by the declaration.

“That’s hardly important right now,” He snapped at the group of men, “They cannot be allowed to simply march on the mountain. It could spell disaster for Laketown!”

To Lyla’s surprise, no one seemed to pay the man any mind anymore. Instead, the men swarmed the dwarves with praises and exclamations of excitement and reverence, pushing the bowman behind them, much to the man’s consternation.

“Come!” the balding man stated, standing near Thorin, “We must take you to The Master of Laketown. He will give you a most hearty welcome I can assure you! Plenty of ale and warm food to settle your bellies!”

A murmur of agreement passed amongst the dwarves as Thorin nodded his head, clapping the bald man on the shoulder. 

“We cannot do this Bromwen!” the bowman thundered, pushing through the crowd of men and pulling the bald man away from Thorin, “This whole venture spells disaster. We have to proceed with caution! The Master is a fool on this matter!”

The bald man, Bromwen scoffed and pulled his arm from the bowman’s grasp, “Your position was given to you out of pity Bard the Bowman. By the very man you just insulted,” he sneered, face contorting into an ugly twist mass of lumps and purple veins, “Do not think that you are truly respected amongst the ranks.”

A dark chuckle cascaded through the company as the men rallied around Bromwen, clearly favoring his opinion over Bard’s. Bard, in turn, growled and lunged towards Bromwen a frustrated fury marring his features.

Only to be held back by a few of the guards surrounding the group. Bard struggled to get his arms free, kicking his feet outwards, a low growl of frustration leaving his lips.

“This is madness!” He huffed, straining his muscles as he twisted, trying to escape the guards’ grips.

Lyla winced as they, in turn, jerked Bard backwards and thrust him to the ground a cacophony of laughter echoing up through the group as the men then stepped past him leading the dwarves and Lyla into the forest. 

Indeed the rest of the men did not respect this Bard fellow.

Her attention turned back towards Thorin and the man, Bromwen at the head of the new group travelling through the woods towards Laketown. She felt a strange pang run through her.

She gazed back at Bard as Bofur ushered her gently along, though she had the urge to return to the fallen man who had been cast aside by the others. 

A few resounding sneezes escape her even as her mind contemplated things. 

Something felt…off.

The man, Bard, looked flustered and worried as he hoisted himself to his feet. 

But beneath that, Lyla saw something else. Something that set her heart tumbling downwards.

But her muddled mind simply couldn’t figure out what that feeling was. 

*****

The niggling feeling that Lyla felt in the woods increased tenfold as the company stood before the Master of Laketown.   
Something was definitely wrong.

In the dim light of the night sky, Lyla gazed around at the people gathered into the square of the center of the town that sat atop the lake, near the tributary where the forest river and the mouth of the lake met together. Threadbare clothing, thin, dirty faces, and tired gazes greeted her. And from what she could see of the houses in the faint light, the wooden edifices mirrored the inhabitants quite well. Thin, dilapidated walls stood, caked in grime. By all account, it appeared that these were hard working people, who received far less than what they obviously needed. 

The man who stood atop the staircase of the central home, a lavish thing with stone pillars and intricately carved wooden placards, however, was nothing like what she had expected.

Fat, lavishly clothed in a brightly colored coat trimmed in rich furs, his blonde hair was scraggly and greasy, plastered to his overly round head. A thin mustached, rotting smile was painted on his face as he stretched out his arms in greeting.

But what made Lyla shudder were the eyes. The Master’s eyes were small, beady, little things. The color of dull grey stone, that shone with a hard, miserly quality, making him appear shrewd and calculating.

He certainly stood in stark contrast to the rest of the inhabitants of Laketown. 

Not like Bard (and she spied the bedraggled bowman shadowing the few people who stood further back, his hair creating a small shield from prying eyes and a spectacular frown on his face). No Bard blended in with the rest of the town. He looked as though he belonged. 

The Master however?

Certainly not.

“Welcome dwarves of Erebor!” The Master of Laketown exclaimed raising his round arms, palms facing upwards, as he bent his head in a mock display of ceremony. 

Lyla cringed. Even the man’s voice sounded greasy.

The bloated man stepped forward and extended his jeweled hand towards Thorin in greeting. 

“Surely your presence in our fair city is a sign that spectacular things are to befall us!”

A low cheer rose up from the crowd. 

Thorin took the proffered hand hesitantly, his face contorted into a smooth mask, though Lyla could see that his eyes were suspicious and hesitating. 

“Indeed. Thank you for the warm reception. My company and I are in your debt Master of Laketown.” 

The Master pulled Thorin upward, to stand near him on the stairs and, smiled jovially. 

“Think nothing of it my good sir! Every comfort shall be give to you and your companions to aid in your journey.” 

The man’s eyes swept over the company, eyes analyzing each dwarf in turn. When he got to Lyla, however, his eyes narrowed and his gaze turned thoughtful, calculating. 

Lyla wanted to shrink from the gaze, to disappear into Bofur’s grasp. She felt so…

Exposed.

A dark foreboding filled her as she gazed back hesitantly, as a familiar low hissing noise made her wince.

But as quickly as the gaze had landed on her, with a derisive snort, The Master’s studious gaze disappeared and the smile returned to The Master’s lips as he turned his attention back to Thorin.

The hissing disappeared. 

“Come my friends! It will take some time but we shall have a house prepared for you. And while we wait, let us feast and make merry!”

A grumbled of approval met Lyla’s ears as the dwarves followed after Thorin and the Master into the ornately constructed building.

Lyla’s stomach churned and her head pounded in protest.

She sneezed yet again and huddled down into the warmth of Bofur’s guiding arm around her shoulder.

“It’s alright lass,” he murmured into her ear, “Ye’ll be restin’ up soon enough. Let’s get some food in yer belly, aye?”

Lyla cringed at the thought of food (something she never thought a hobbit would do). 

She’d much rather be in a warm bed. 

Yes. A warm bed sounded most pleasant.

She wasn’t particularly hungry. 

Nor was she particularly eager to enjoy the company of The Master of Laketown.

*****  
Lyla was surprised to find herself separated from the main body of dwarves as they sat at the large banquet table laden with food. 

The Master had insisted that the ‘heroes of Erebor’ be given the highest seats of honor. That is to say, a seat next to him. 

This invitation did NOT, in fact, include Lyla, much to the consternation of many of the company members. 

"Oi! The hobbit's a member of this company. What's this about havin' te separate us?" Gloin remarked heatedly, the veins in his hands pulsing beneath the skin as he clenched his fingers into a tight fist.

"The hobbit's a member of this company, and you'd do kindly to afford the burglar a place of 'honor' amongst friends," Bofur exclaimed his eyes narrowed.

Dwalin in particular had a difficult time with separation.

“The hobbit is part of the company if ye please. No reason why we should be separating us! Why do ye think we deserve to be shown such disrespect? Are we not your 'honored guests?'” He exclaimed heatedly leaning forward to glare at the spluttering head of Laketown..

The dwarf’s temper had The Master scrambling to placate the nervous attitudes he’d kicked up.

“I meant no offense of course! Forgive me.” He garbled as his sausage fingers twittered nervously, “It will not happen again.”

Dwalin made to protest, but Thorin’s hand on his arm stilled the warrior dwarf. He turned and shot Lyla an apologetic look and worried look.

But Lyla understood. She knew that they couldn’t afford to make enemies in Laketown. They were in desperate need of supplies. 

No. They had to comply with the demands of The Master.

At least for now. Though that didn’t stop him and the rest of her dwarves from gazing at their hobbit frequently, their eyes alight with concern and contemplation.

Lyla suspected that this seating arrangment was done chiefly for political purposes, as the round man didn’t hesitate to demand Thorin’s undivided attention. A fact that the dwarf seemed very keen to avoid as he dodged questions or changed the subject. 

Lyla felt a bit of pity for him.

Perhaps it had been a small mercy that she was seated further away?

And as it was, SHE wasn’t in bad company. 

A man sat on one side of her, completely ignoring the small creature sitting next to him. But on the other side she had Legolas. 

And though the elf hardly spoke a word, his somewhat familiar presence brought her a sense of comfort and peace. 

It was a peace she clung to, as her head pounded and her joints ached, longing for the blessed reprieve that sleep could provide. 

The reprieve she had to suffer through dinner to get to.

An immensely long, boring and tedious dinner that left her feeling far more drained than she would have liked. 

It was a peace that she clung to as she caught snatches of The Master’s conversation with Thorin as they sat at the head of the table.

“Your coming here has brought to pass many old prophecies!” The Master exclaimed exuberantly, “Truly it shall be a delight for the dwarves to return to Erebor.”

Thorin snorted quietly, “Yes it indeed it will, though some in your town seem to feel…otherwise.” 

Thorins’ voice had gone soft. Predatorily soft

The Master waved off Thorin’s hesitancy. 

“Don’t you worry about Master Bard, my good dwarf. The man,” Lyla spied him fiddling with his fork, “the man certainly has a flair for the dramatics. I can assure you that the town welcomes and reveres your company coming here.”

Lyla’s stomach did a strange flip-flop again as she sneezed. 

So, The Master didn’t like Bard either. 

Her eyes flicked around, searching for the bowman, who had escaped this tedious dinner. 

Even with her muddled mind, Lyla’s curiosity was running rampant considering the reason WHY this Bard character was so…rejected by his own people, the master of the town included. What could he have done to cause such disrespect?

Or perhaps there was another reason? 

Her gaze travelled back towards Thorin and That Master.

She jumped when her gaze locked with the greasy man’s own gaze. His lips were pursed into a thin line, eyes narrowed as he stared at her.

She felt Legolas’ hand on her shoulder as she winced as the pounding in her head increased and the low sinister hissing noise returned. 

“Are you alright?” He murmured quietly, his voice like rich chimes echoing in the wind.

Lyla broke the gaze with The Master and turned to face her elf companion with a smile. She noted his blue eyes darting between herself and The Master, a small frown playing on his lips as his gaze hardened.

“Yes,” Lyla remarked tiredly, “I’m fine.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile, “You’re a terrible liar, little hobbit. A terrible liar and a beacon for acquiring all manner of unwanted attention.” 

Liar indeed!

She sneezed again and returned to her dinner pushing the contents around on her plate, her stomach churning with unease.

Yes indeed. If Legolas suspected something to be wrong then…

something was definitely wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to hear from you! Hear your comments, thoughts, ideas, theories, all of it! Feel free to comment below. 
> 
> And if you're interested, take a peek at these other great works! They are simply fantastic: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's Fem!Bilbo au called 'Good Morning' is amazing:   
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And 
> 
> chappysmom's Sherlock/Hobbit crossover fic, 'There and Back' is spectacular!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	38. Fevered Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla is ill...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the great responses to the last few chapters. I hope this chapter makes sense. I've been battling with a major case of fatigue lately. Literally falling asleep everywhere! So I hope most grammatical mistakes are taken care of. 
> 
> And I warn you, this is a bit of a long chapter. I've even split things up and it still ended this long!
> 
> But I hope you enjoy it at least. 
> 
> Here's the music to enjoy with this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/Kwa5E-Z_CY0  
> http://youtu.be/as1ho6YLzPA

Dinner seemed to stretch on forever.

Or, at least for Lyla, it did.

Most of the dwarves (barring Thorin) appeared to enjoy the festivities, food, and drink. Their spirits rose ever higher (and their voices louder) as the night wore on and the ale flowed freely.

She caught snatches of Bofur recounting their adventures in getting to Laketown to some rather anxious children who sat in rapt attention, their eyes as wide as saucers. Other dwarves, like Gloin, were expounding upon the utmost importance of their quest because of the stability and comfort it would bring their families back in the Blue Mountains.  


And then there were the dwarves like Fili and Kili and Nori and Oin who were starting a boisterous round of singing, their voices raised in a raucous drunk chorus of laughter and verse. 

It was heartwarming for Lyla to hear. 

All the merry making and music didn’t stop the dwarves, however, from giving Lyla worried looks every few minutes. Though every time they tried to rise to approach the hobbit, they were surrounded by a myriad of curious townsfolk, filled to the brim questions or expulsions of gratitude and admiration. 

So they remained down the table from her, as Lyla sat in blessed silence next to Legolas, neither one of them bothered by an inhabitant of Laketown, more than likely due to the fact that they weren’t dwarves. 

And that suited Lyla just fine. She didn’t seek nor invited attention of any sort. 

Her head pounded, her throat felt tight.

And she most certainly could not stop the sneezes from coming.

All she wanted was to sit in silence, blessed, calm silence. And Legolas didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. He sat straight, like a sentinel of calm. 

But Lyla was so bone-achingly tired that eventually her head found purchase against Legolas’ arm (at his insistence of course) and she drifted to the point between wakefulness and sleep. 

Eventually though, as all things do, the dinner (for her at least) finally came to an end and someone was shaking her.

“Alright then, up you get, your companions are getting ready to depart. It wouldn’t do for you to be left behind,” Legolas’ light, soothing timbre was near her ear as he helped her into a standing position, his arm firmly wrapped around her shoulders as she stumbled forward and towards the door.

She hazarded a glance around to the table and noted that many of her companions weren’t faring much better than she, though for an entirely different reason. They too stumbled slightly—the result of too much ale—as they followed Thorin and a guide from the large hall, towards (what she hoped) as a place where they could rest. 

Colors blended and the dull roar of voices washed in her ears. The walls vibrated around her. 

She felt, very much, as though she were walking in the midst of a dreamscape. 

‘One foot in front of the other Lyla. Just keep moving. You’re fine.’

Part of her knew she was lying to herself. Her aching muscles and growing fatigue felt remarkably similar to the time when she’d fallen asleep on her favorite bench and woken up drenched in the surprise spring rain shower that had descended upon the Shire. She’d been abed and miserable for nearly a week as a result. And right now, she was certain that a cold was coming. Coupled with the bruises she could feel forming on her stomach from Azog’s hit, and she was right certain she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a nice cool, comforting bed and forget the world.

She was tired. Remarkably, thoroughly tired. 

But, a larger part of her fought the drowsiness. For some inexplicable reason she felt the necessity to walk of her own volition from the building. 

Perhaps she was just stubborn? She was part Took after all. 

But, as she gazed at the round, preening face of The Master, she withheld another shudder and acknowledged that it was more than her stubborn nature that prevented her from foregoing walking from the room under her own power. The man was staring at her, the same sneering, calculating expression on his face. 

Her stomach flopped. 

Yes, it was much better if she walked of her own accord. She needed to show as much strength as possible. 

She didn’t trust the man. 

Blessedly, though, as she stepped over the threshold and into the night, the cool night air shocked Lyla’s mind back to alertness and she managed to straighten her gait so that she needn’t rely on Legolas so much. Following closely behind Dori and Ori, Legolas still on her left, his arm never leaving her shoulder, she noted how dark and silent the town had become. Hardly any light shone except for a few lamps dotting the narrow wooden walkways and the torch that their guide held.

Her gaze drifted upwards, scanning each darkened window, each silent home. She wondered what type of lives these people lived. It couldn’t be comfortable. It couldn’t be easy. She wondered if they were happy. 

And she worried for them. 

What would happen when she confronted the dragon? What would happen to these people if the dwarves did not succeed? 

And then her eyes caught sight of…

Something in the shadows. 

She focused her gaze to the rooftops as the shadow darted across the closely knit houses, never making a sound. She could make out the shape a little clearer as the shadow moved. 

Two legs, two arms, a straight, powerful stance.

This shadow was a man. 

And as the man leapt to another rooftop, ghosting in front of one of the few lamps lighting the wooden street, Lyla caught a face in her vision.

Bard. 

She stopped, pulling out of Legolas’ hold to stare upwards, into the dark, her mind puzzling over the bowman.

Why was he jumping across the rooftops?

Said bowman must have sensed someone watching him, for he stopped as well and peered downward. His face pulled into a frown as he gazed at the company of dwarves meandering down the narrow walkways, lead by one of The Master’s servants. 

Then his gaze landed on Lyla and Bard’s eyes widened in surprise.

And then, they narrowed slightly. Not in a mean way, but in a rather thoughtful manner, as though she were a puzzle that he was trying to sort out.  
He was studying her.

She watched as his gaze shifted once more and he gazed behind her, as a deep, resigned sadness filled his eyes and he turned away with a nod in her direction.  
“We best start moving again before your company discovers your absence,” Legolas’ voice was so close that Lyla jumped in surprise. But she nodded to the towering blonde elf in agreement and started following after the company (whom she noticed were not too far ahead).  


In her muddled, tired mind, however, there rolled questions. Questions she desperately wanted answered. 

She wanted to understand this town, the people, and Bard. 

“It would appear,” Legolas ventured quietly, his voice carrying softly to Lyla’s ears, startling the hobbit, “That the taint from Mirkwood is slowly spreading. Just as predicted.”  


What?

“Pardon me?” Lyla whispered back, her voice scratchy, throat sore.

Why was he saying this?

Legolas’ arm tightened around her shoulders as he steadied her deteriorating footing and cast a sidelong glance at her.“I mean that the taint of Mirkwood, little Shireling, is spreading. Surely you’ve felt it growing here. Spreading not through the trees or river, but through the people.”

Ah. 

So that’s what she had felt. The familiar unease tugging at her, making her fingers and toes tingle with suspicion and worry.

The feeling that filled her with a creeping sense of dread.

Legolas nodded his head thoughtfully, “The Master of Laketown appears, by all accounts, to be a charismatic leader, well adored by his subjects.” Then Legolas’ eyes narrowed, “But I’ve seen that growing, festering, sickness covering in my home for far too long not to notice the wickedness hiding beneath the man’s façade.”

He looked again to Lyla with a frown, his bright blue eyes flashing with an unidentifiable emotion, “Never travel alone little one. You above all must stay safe while you are housed here.”

But then Legolas’ gaze shifted and his focus seemed to transcend the recent moment. He gazed far off murmuring lowly.

“There is still hope though,” he mused thoughtfully, “There are a few warriors left unscathed by the growing evil of this world. The world of men may yet endure.”

Lyla furrowed her brows as she gazed at the elf warily.

He had utterly confused her. 

A smile worked its way onto Legolas’ lips as he blinked back to the present moment and surmised the reason behind Lyla’s contorted facial features. 

“Worry not Mistress Baggins. For now, let’s get you somewhere to rest.” 

“But-“

Legolas shook his head. “No. No, it is best to focus on the present. You have far too many tasks ahead of you at moment to concern yourself with. Worry for the future as it comes. Not now. For now, to bed little one. Nothing else.”

*****

Thorin stood atop the steps of the home The Master of Laketown had leant for the dwarves’ use and watched each member of his company trudge slowly into their temporary quarters with a wearied sense of relief. They were finally returning to some sense of normalcy. 

They weren’t imprisoned by elves.

Captured by spiders or trolls.

Or starving in the darkened forest of Mirkwood. 

And Azog wouldn’t be bothering them again, that was for certain.

No they were safe for the moment, with full bellies, and warm beds awaiting. 

And all of them relatively no worse for wear.

Well…almost all of them.

His gaze shifted towards Lyla as she and the elf made up the rear of their group. He squinted and noted that the tall blonde creature had an arm firmly encircling the small shoulders of their burglar’s as he steadied her wobbly footing.

Thorin noted the hobbit’s face beneath Bofur’s large hat, with flushed cheeks and glassy gaze as she followed along silently, except for the spectacularly loud sneezes that escape her small form. Thorin knew the little creature was feeling the effects of her recent brush with death. 

A pang of guilt shot through him. 

Not only had he been responsible for her foolishly brave actions at the river and in Thranduil’s halls, but he was also the cause of her delayed recovery. 

She should be in bed, not gallivanting through Laketown in the dark, chilled autumn air. 

But they’d had no choice. The Master had insisted that they dine and, not wanting to offend the first person to extend courtesy to them in a long while, he had accepted.  


But Lyla still suffered for it. 

And worse still, none of the dwarves were able to ease her discomfort. They had been harangued by the townspeople, peppered with questions, while Lyla sat with an elf (An elf!) down at the other end of their long table, silent and alone. 

They couldn’t even talk to her for Mahal’s sake!

His eyes narrowed at the thought of the rotund, pompous Master and his lofty seating arrangement. He’d purposely separated Lyla away from the dwarves. 

For what purpose, though, he did not know.

He did know, however, that he did not trust the man. Despite all the comfort they were afforded, something gnawed at the back of his mind like a parasite, infesting a suspicion in his brain. There was something decidedly odd about Laketown, about The Master, about all of it. And he wanted to avoid the greasy if he could. 

But as leader of their company, Thorin had been forced to endure the tedious company of the leader of Laketown, when he would have rathered to attend to the needs of their company’s burglar.

And the meetings with The Master were only beginning. Beginning in the morning, he’d be making negotiations and plans to start their journey towards Erebor. 

It was a trying evening and Thorin’s nerves were on edge. 

And the stress he felt was only enflamed as he gazed at the elf, Legolas, doting upon Lyla.

He could feel his eye twitching in contempt (though he wasn’t sure WHY he felt such an emotion).

And then Legolas flashed Thorin a small smile as they ascended the stairs after the rest of the company. 

Thorin frowned and narrowed his eyes. He trusted this elf, the son of Thranduil, as much as he trusted The Master. 

Which, is to say, not at all. 

“Come along burglar,” he murmured, pointedly ignoring Legolas. He tugged the drowsy Lyla from the elf’s grasp and wrapped his own arms around her shoulders, “You need to rest.”

He noted out of the corner of his eye that Legolas was still grinning. 

*****

Lyla had been right. 

The next morning her sneezing and scratchy throat had blossomed into a full-fledged cold. 

She felt terrible. Absolutely terrible. 

Her mind was so muzzy that she couldn’t even remember having laid down on the bed. And as she gazed down and noted the clean shirt, and beneath that, the crisp white bandages around her torso and hand, she felt a sort of strange detachment from reality. She simply couldn’t remember when she’d gone to bed or who had taken care of her. 

So confused was she, that she could bring herself to feel embarrassed for having been so exposed while unaware. 

But instead of dwelling on trying to remember what had happened, Lyla simly sank back down among the warmth of the bed and drifted back to sleep. 

*****

Her dreams were filled with all manner of strange and terrifying things. 

She saw her mother and Thorin arguing at Bag End, the little hobbit woman poking the much taller dwarf in the chest as she berated him for EVER thinking so ill of HER daughter.

‘You know nothing of the Tooks!’ she scoffed, ‘Or of the sheer stubbornness of a Baggins. And combined together, my daughter is certainly a force to reckoned with. You best watch yourself Thorin Oakenshield!’

Then the scene twisted, colors blending, distorting, making her nauseous.

She saw wolves. Large, white wolves gliding silently through the snow, their deep growls filling the air around her as she scrambled over the frozen Brandywine, trying to get away from their snarling, snapping advances. 

She slipped on the ice, skidding into the frigid snow bank, scrambling to her feet, trying to get away. 

One caught her cloak, dragging her down, and its toothy growl in her face, bearing down on her.

The world spun…

She saw Azog leering at her, perched overhead, his clawed arm pushing down on her, forcing her beneath the water of the river, until she was completely submerged. She kicked  
and clawed at the hand trying to force it off her throat. She couldn’t breathe. 

Azog’s eyes glittered in a sinister, twisted glee and he laughed, his gravelly voice echoing in her ears. 

He pressed harder against her throat, crushing her. Lyla arched her back, twisting, trying to get away. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t breathe.

“LYLA!”

Lyla jolted upwards, back to consciousness at the shout of her name, gasping for air, coughing, as the world spun back into focus.

Dwalin had a firm hold on her shoulders, his brows knit together in worry, eyes flashing. 

“It’s alright,” He grumbled lowly rubbing her shoulders, “Drink, then sleep.” He ordered as Oin pressed something to her lips.

She drank but couldn’t taste anything. 

And slipped back to sleep within a few moments. 

*****

Thorin stared at the mop of blonde curls as Lyla curled on her side, knees tucked, one hand fisted into her pillow. She muttered lowly, incoherently in her sleep, as her fingers twitched. 

Thorin sighed and leaned closer, watching the hobbit carefully. 

He knew she was having nightmares. He was no stranger to them 

He just wished they weren’t afflicting her, that she'd never have had to suffer from them in the first place.

Lyla turned in her sleep, knocking the blanket down from her shoulders.

Thorin automatically reached out and readjusted the blanket, brushing some of Lyla’s sweaty locks from her brow as she slept. 

He found himself fascinated by every noise she made and every way her body twisted, trying to get comfortable. 

He wanted to understand her. 

He ran his hand across her cheek gently and sighed.

Mahal, what was wrong with him?

*****

She didn’t dream this time around, though she was bombarded with images and noises. Strange faces, colors, shapes.

A dragon, red scales, bright yellow eyes, and large sharp teeth snapping together with a sharp ‘click’

A darkened cave, a murky, black lake and the soft lapping noise of water hitting against rock.

A great red, lidless eye, engulfed in flames. The familiar sinister hissing whisper that set her heart racing.

“Mistress Boggins,” Someone was lifting her up, “Wake up. Open your eyes.”

She obeyed tiredly and met Kili’s rich chocolate orbs, his face was inches from her own. 

“Here, drink this.” 

A cup was touched to her lips and she drank deeply, nearly choking on the bitter dregs of whatever had been placed in the cup. 

Someone was patting her on the back.

“Sleep,” Fili’s voice wafted in her ear, “We’ll be here.”

She slept.

And this time, she didn’t dream. 

*****

She could hear the low murmur of conversation.

“Still warm.”

“But better.”

“Nightmares?”

“More draughts when she wakes.”

“She needs to eat. Too thin.”

“Tea perhaps?”

She drifted back off. 

*****

“Mistress Baggins.” 

A dull rumble was near her ear, low and soothing.

Something brushed against her forehead. 

“Mistress Baggins.”

She recognized that voice that tickled her ear, warm breath ghosting over her cheeks and nose.

They were disturbing her sleep.

She grumbled and pulled at the covers, trying to roll onto her side. 

“Lyla.” Someone was shaking her this time.

Her eyes fluttered and opened slowly.

Someone was leaning over her, their face nearly touching her own. 

She screamed in surprise and thrust her hand upwards as she kicked trying to get away.

Thorin let out a low groan of pain as he clutched his nose, eyes watering as he stumbled backwards.

Lyla’s eyes widened and then she winced. 

Thorin shot her a glare as he clutched his nose tighter, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

Heavy rapid footfalls echoed up a staircase and the loud exclamations of several company members reached the hobbit’s ears.

Four harried dwarves burst into the room, weapons at the ready, eyes blazing.

“Where is—“ Bofur exclaimed and then stopped short as he gazed between Thorin and Lyla.

A grin broke out on his face. 

“Oh that’s beautiful, that is.” He chortled, dropping his mattock and pushing his hat further down on his head as laughter escaped his lips.

Dori, Gloin and, Nori soon joined in, their stances relaxing. Booming laughter echoed around her.

Thorin let out a long suffering sigh and removed his hand from his nose. Blood trickled down and small bruising was already starting to form.

He shot Lyla another glare as the dwarves doubled over in laughter again. 

“Sorry,” she murmured hoarsely as a small smile worked its way onto her own cracked, dry lips.

 

*****

By the afternoon, after hitting Thorin in the nose, Lyla was feeling immensely better. 

Well sort of.

Her mind didn’t feel so muddled at least though her nose was stuffed and her ears felt as though they had cotton in them.

But she wasn’t shivering any more.

And she was actually hungry.

Which pleased Bombur greatly. He sent Fili and Kili up with a tray laden with a variety of fruits, breads and warmed broth with the demand that the little hobbit each as much as possible. 

Lyla could only stomach the broth, after having gone without food for so long. But, to her, it tasted heavenly. The warm rich concoction slid down her throat, easing the  
scratchiness and soothing the dull throbbing ache. 

“Thang you bery buch,” She had remarked, causing the two young princelings to grin and snort in amusement at her obvious inability to speak coherently. 

They had a good laugh at her expense. 

But afterwards, they forced tea down her throat and by the bitter aftertaste, she knew that they were giving her another draught. 

“It’ll do you good,” Fili remarked, plopping down into a chair, as he fiddled with one of his many daggers.

“And we’ll be right here Mistress Boggins,” Kili exclaimed flopping into another chair to her left, “We’ll keep an eye on you.” 

And of course she dozed after that. 

When she woke again, she noted that Ori, Dwalin, and Bifur were sitting in her room. Bifur and Dwalin were carving blocks of wood, their eyes focused on the precise movements of their fingers and the blades they held. 

Ori, the shy sweater-clad dwarf he was, sat hunched over an journal of sorts, his quill flying across the page, only stopping so that he could refresh the ink on the tip. 

She smiled as she watched them drowsily, each absorbed in their own tasks, lost in thought and concentration. 

‘It’s nice’ she thought, letting her eyes slip closed. 

*****  
The comfort and love she felt because of the dutiful attentiveness of the company, however, soon wore off. 

Not that she wasn’t appreciative to them of course. She would forever be grateful for the attention they paid to her, especially after the torture of not knowing where they were in Mirkwood. 

But after a few days of being confined to a bed, forced to drink draught after draught, and having the constant company of one dwarf or another, Lyla was at a loss for what to do.  


She wanted out of bed. She wanted to be out of doors, walking around, exploring, feeling the sun on her skin. 

She craved it. Her Tookish nature demanded it. 

She didn’t want to be cooped up here anymore.

And she wanted a bath for Aule’s sake!

As it was, the dwarves didn’t pay much mind to Lylas requests. They brushed off her comments and insisted that she either eat or sleep whenever possible. 

Or rather they pretended to brush off her comments. 

Thorin was, by far, the worst dwarf to contend with on the subject. The others were sympathetic to her plight, but claimed that the dwarf king held them in command as their ruling superior. They were bound by loyalty to oblige him. 

“Aye lass, if I could choose te let ye go, I would,” Bofur exclaimed, ruffling her damp, sweaty curls.

Lyla cringed, though Bofur didn’t acknowledge anything amiss. 

Ugh.

Yes indeed. She REALLY wanted a bath. 

So when she broached the subject with the dwarf king, he had scoffed lightly and gave her a firm look.

“You’ve been ill,” He remarked pointedly, “And you aren’t sufficiently recovered yet to be getting out of bed unless absolutely necessary.”

She insisted that, yes, a bath was an absolute necessity, but Thorin only shook his head and smirked at her. 

Lyla glowered at the dwarf who was so overbearingly oblivious to how normal creatures functioned that it was a miracle he hadn’t been throttled before. 

(Even though deep down she was touched that he cared about her.)

But this was the last straw. 

She was going to have to sneak out. 

*****  
Legolas sat, quite comfortably, on the ledge outside the window across from the house, and the window, where Lyla had been recovering. He watched the interaction between Thorin and Lyla with amusement a soft smile tugging at his lips. 

The little hobbit was certainly full of spirit. 

With her mussed curls, and wrinkled clothing, she huffed and stood toe to toe with Thorin, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed at him. 

She certainly could hold her own. 

‘You must protect the hobbit’ the voice reminded him as he hopped nimbly down from the ledge. ‘She will restore the balance.’

Oh how his father had scoffed at those words!

But oh how Legolas clung to them. He saw the descent his father was spiraling down. And he dared to hope that one tiny creature could change the course of the future. 

Legolas sighed and nodded his head absently, quickening his pace, heading towards the docks at the edge between the lake and land. 

He knew what Lyla was planning. It was obvious that she longed to feel the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze. 

And he was determined to help her. For by helping her, he was helping his people, Laketown, all of it. 

First and foremost, though, he needed to find Bard the Bowman. 

It appeared that the man was to have a guest that evening. A guest that the bowman was most anxious to speak with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? What did you think about this chapter? Questions? Thoughts? Feelings? 
> 
> Did it even make sense?
> 
> Did you enjoy the music?
> 
> I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> And be sure to check out Luckyhai5's amazing fic, 'Good Morning' It will have you on the edge of your seat!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And take a gander at chappysmom's fic, 'There and Back' it's simply brilliant.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729


	39. The Secrets of Laketown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla's escape from confinement.
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/OshTocyMPIQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well people! Sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter up. I confess I've spent the weekend sleeping and getting some energy back and then this chapter just sort of mushroomed into a far more complex little portion than I originally anticipated. And so, you're getting half of it now and the other half either late tonight or early tomorrow. So be on the lookout for that. 
> 
> And thank you for all the reviews, kudos and the hits! I'm astonished and overwhelmed and appreciative. You readers are wonderful. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Thorin was fidgeting, something he only did when he was flustered. 

Or worried.

His fingers twitched, spasms convulsing through his wrists as he sat once more at the large banquet table and half listened to The Master of Laketown discuss the future restitution and repayment for the town’s service to the dwarves.

He had the urge to run his fingers through his hair, but the image that would present to the portly leader before him, would not display Thorin’s natural, regal heritage. No, best to play the part.

He hated it. 

“Of course once you’ve reclaimed your grand kingdom,” The Master exclaimed jovially picking a bit of food from his teeth, “We can discuss a fair ‘price’ for our generosity.”  
Thorin snorted silently, withholding a cringe, but nodded his head in agreement, to appease the leader of Laketown. 

Thorin had always supposed that generous people didn’t seek out rewards for their good deeds.

The man was clearly self-serving and cared nothing for the welfare of the inhabitants of Laketown. And it was clear that the only reason he was helping the dwarves in the first place was because of the potential for a large gain. 

But he was nothing like…

Thorin shook his head lightly to dispel the thoughts of bright hazel eyes and soft smiles.

But what did he know of men?

What did he know of anyone really? 

What motivated a person to perform an act of service? 

And as The Masater droned on, Thorin’s thoughts drifted to the hobbit, nestled in her blankets, sleeping peacefully.

But his heart pounded as worry niggled his brain.

****

Lyla was not sleeping peacefully. 

Not by a long shot.

Her argument with Thorin had left her feeling far more wound up than she already was, making the nightmares far more potent than normal. She had imagined she was drowning again, but this time, Thorin had sat on the water’s edge and laughed as Azog attacked her.

She had woken up panting, muscles aching and head pounding. 

Instead of even attempting to return to sleep, she sat in one of the chairs in the small bedroom and gazed out the window, stewing over the disagreement.

‘You can’t keep me here!’ She’d grumbled heatedly.

But Thorin had not listened. He had the audacity look considerate and compassionate as he replied that they were merely trying to take care of her.

‘We’re doing what’s best for you. Surely you can see that.’ 

And while her chest tightened at the notion that someone WANTED to take care of her (and yes she COULD see the genuine concern the company held for her), her ire rose at Thorin’s strange behavior. 

How did he know what was best for her anyhow? He never bothered to ask! 

Or listen for that matter. He believed that his methods were the only correct ones. 

Did he really think he would keep her locked up in a room? That THIS was what was best for her welfare?

A better question rose in her mind then, would she really allow him to make that decision for her?

No. 

No, indeed!

His heart may have been in the right place, but his head was muddled and confused. While she respected the arrogant, stubborn dwarf (and found comfort in his presence), she knew that Thorin didn’t fully understand who Lyla Baggins was.

She was a Took. And a Baggins. And as stubborn as they come. 

With a firm nod of her head, she rose and headed towards the door ignoring the teacup and tray of food that her companions had brought up for her.

*****

“I’m leaving,” Lyla announced as she stepped gingerly down the stairs, wary of her still wobbly footing.

Dwalin, Fili and Kili’s heads shot up in surprise at seeing Lyla standing here. 

“Why aren’t you resting?” Kili questioned confusedly setting his work on crafting a new arrow aside, “We gave you your tea. And where are Ori and Bifur?”

“They’re upstairs obviously,” Lyla remarked offhandedly as she thought of the two dwarves who were sitting outside her bedroom door like sentinels. “Ori’s working on updating his new journal and Bifur was carving…something. And of course I didn’t drink my tea,” She stopped at the railing a small smile on her face, “And I’m telling you what I told them. I’m going out. They didn’t seem to mind my decision, so neither should you.”

Dwalin had slowly risen to his feet, a flash of curiosity and amusement crossing his face. “Ori’s intimidated by ye, ye mean.”

He raised an eyebrow at Lyla who just shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and said nothing. It’s not like she had been rude to the sweater-clad dwarf. She’d only told him, quite firmly, what her plans were and the poor dear had gone completely tongue-tied, only capable of nodding his head in agreement. 

And Bifur? Well Bifur had just grunted and winked at her before turning back to his carving. 

“Why are ye so anxious to go lass? Ye are still on the mend. Ye should be resting,” Dwalin remarked patiently his eyes hooded. 

“And I’m telling you, master dwarf,” Lyla stepped closer, unafraid of the warrior dwarf with his display of tattoos and grumpy demeanor, “I told you that I am going out. Just for a few minutes. I need the fresh air, the sunshine. I’m a hobbit. I need to feel the comforts of nature.”

She gazed up at him unabashedly, her look firm and steady, waiting…

A large, toothy grin spread on Dwalin’s face and he ruffled Lyla’s hair, “And I’d wager that ye’d want a bath as well.”

Lyla grimaced as flashes of her recent…adventures…shot through her mind. She wanted to be rid of the tainted feeling that crawled over her skin.

“Yes. A bath sounds lovely.” 

Dwalin’s grin spread wider and he grabbed a hold of Lyla’s shoulders and touched their foreheads together gently, affectionately.

“Aye. I was wonderin’ when I’d see that stubborn streak come back lass. I’ve been missin’ it. Alright then, off ye go. There’s a bathhouse down in the shopping district. Ye’ll find what ye need to be taken care of.”

Lyla grinned and stepped back, her eyes alight in gratitude.

“But we can’t just let her go out!” Kili exclaimed horrified at the idea, his brown eyes widened in shock as he stared at Dwalin, “Uncle will kill us!”

“And she’s still ill,” Fili interjected, giving Lyla a pointed look, “Look at her flushed skin and the bags under her eyes. She needs to rest.”

“I NEED sunshine,” Lyla remarked, giving the two boys a firm look, her gaze resolved but pleading. “You can’t force me to stay in a room. I can make my own decisions.”

“What of Uncle though?” Kili muttered the question again, his voice resigned as he tugged absently at the dark locks by his ear. Apparently, he figured he couldn’t get out of this one. “We don’t want to take your freedoms from you, Mistress Boggins. But Uncle?” He wrinkled his nose. “He’ll be furious.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

Both Durins shot Lyla a confused look. Even Dwalin looked slightly surprised at her statement, though he hid it well. 

But she only smiled placatingly, “I meant what I said, you know. I’ll only be gone a little while. I just want…to feel the sun, to see the town for a moment, to listen to the water. I…I need it.”

“And if we don’t let you?” Kili’s brows knit together thoughtfully as he peered at Lyla’s reaction to his question.

Lyla just smiled, if a bit warily. “Then I would ask why you don’t trust me.”

Kili started to sputter, his eyes going wide, “I never said that we didn’t—“ 

Lyla held her hand up to silence the young dwarf, “You know I could very easily have snuck out of here without you being any the wiser.” She watched Fili’s eyes narrow in confusion and suspicion. Lyla nodded her head. “I could have very easily slipped away and you would have been none the wiser. But…” then she sighed, “But I trust you and I care about you. I didn’t think it fair of me to sneak off. I thought you deserved to know that I trusted you to make the right decision.” 

“But,” Kili interjected, “Aren’t you sneaking off without Uncle knowing?”

Lyla grinned at the young dwarf affectionately, “You’re very perceptive. But, I don’t necessarily WANT to sneak away. Thorin just isn’t…listening. You’ve all listened to what I’ve had to say, but he never did.” 

Lyla snorted and rolled her eyes.

“He fancies he knows how to take care of everyone without actually listening to their needs.”

Dwalin started chuckling at that comment.

“Aye lass, that’d be the truth of it. A fierce warrior he may be, but often he’s not the smartest diplomat. Which is why my brother takes good care of things,” He remarked  
clapping his hand lightly on her shoulder, “But don’t be so hard on ‘im. He’s tryin’ the best he knows how.”

Lyla smiled kindly at Thorin’s oldest friend, “Yes I do understand that. I just have to prove to him that I am capable.”

“Aye, lass, but I think ye’ve done that more than enough times.” 

“Alright,” Fili amended as he cut in between Dwalin and Lyla, grabbing the hobbit’s arms, “alright. I understand. but you can’t go alone,” he admonished, “That’s asking for 

trouble. And no desire that you have will sway me on that score.”

“Well then, we best get ready to go then, aye?” Dwalin remarked tugging on Fili’s collar, causing the blonde dwarf prince to stumble backwards in surprise. 

“Pardon me?” 

“Aye lass, Fili’s right. We’ll be taggin’ along if ye don’t mind. That’s the stipulation.”

Lyla sighed with a resigned (but grateful) smile. A compromise was better than nothing she supposed.

*****  
Laketown, she learned, was much the same at night as it was during the day, barring the mere fact that the small wooden walkways suspended over the lake were teeming with all manner of people. 

The houses were still dilapidated and constructed in muted shades of grays and browns, crammed so tightly together that hardly any light could stream between the spaces. The small windows that adorned each home remained firmly closed with a drape pulled tight to prevent anyone from peeking inside. 

And the walkways? 

Lyla’s heart pounded lightly in her ears as she navigated the narrow planked streets that matched the color of the homes and shops. She was so close to the edge of the walkway—and not being overly fond of water—she found it hard to enjoy the unique attributes the town afforded. 

Not the mention the people didn’t seem to acknowledge her presence. 

Tall, dirt-smudged faces, and thin-lipped frowns greeted her wherever she went. She noted the disrepair of their clothes, the scratches on thin wrists and the general sense of resigned exhaustion that most of the inhabitants exhibited.

What set her on edge, however, was the lack of children. Not one child roamed the street with their parents. It was as if they didn’t exist, though she was certain she had seen SOME during the banquet. 

Lyla frowned as she gazed about. 

It was all rather disconcerting. 

But because of her much shorter stature, she was nearly pushed into the water several times because the inhabitants were either moving too fast or simply did not see her. If not for Dwalin keeping a firm hold on her arm, she would have been shoved aside and forgotten and lost amongst the bustling bodies around her. 

But true to his word, they managed to make it down towards a small round building near the water’s edge and dry land. And while the coloring of the building matched the drab décor of the rest of the town, the small tendrils of steam rising from the roof cheered Lyla’s heart immensely. 

And she was thankful when the dwarves did NOT follow her into the bathhouse, electing, instead to keep watch outside. 

She tried to hide the blush she was certain marred her cheeks as she ducked inside.

The isolation gave the small hobbit plenty of time and space to relax in steaming, warm water and scrub her skin until it was a bright pink before dunking beneath the steam to clean her hair. 

When she came outdoors again, she shivered against the chilled air, but her spirits were remarkably improved. 

She felt cleaner. Much, much cleaner.

And as another small gust of wind blew past her, making her shiver as she adjusted her jacket around herself, she found that she would be contented to return to their small lodgings. 

She noted soft white snowflakes starting to fall from the cloudy sky above and pulled her jacket tighter. 

She wasn’t so stubborn as to demand an entire day out of doors in the cold while still nursing a monstrous cold. 

And she didn’t know when Thorin would be returning.

She cringed trying to avert her thoughts from dwelling on his temper should he find out about her little…excursion. She’d never forgive herself if anyone in the company had to  
face his wrath because of her.

No. Best not press her luck too much then.

But as she gazed around, she had a hard time spotting her companions.

Which confused her. 

Hadn’t they said that they were going to stay nearby? 

Lyla fingered her damp curls thoughtfully, meeting several curious glances from the townsfolk as she gazed around for her dwarves. 

Then she heard it, a slow growing murmur sweeping through the throngs of people traveling amongst the busy walkways as they gathered together in a group, their excitement evident.

“We thank you for your kindness, but if you’ll just excuse us for a—“ 

Aha.

She heard Fili’s voice and knew that the townsfolk were gathered around her dwarf companions. 

Lyla tried to edge closer, but her small stature made it rather difficult to push past the growing number of bodies pressed tightly together, trying to get as close to Dwalin, Fili and Kili as possible. 

“Dwalin!” she called into the crowd as she slipped between two men standing together murmuring excitedly.

“We’ll be better off when they kill the beast.”

“Master Baggins!” Fili’s voice carried over the crowd and she caught a glimpse of golden hair as she tried to edge ever closer, past a trio of womenfolk tittering and gossiping excitedly amongst themselves as they rose on their toes to see over the crowd, much to Lyla’s envy.

“The Master’s to hold another banquet for them! And he’s invited the whole town! We’ll have a decent meal tonight!” 

Lyla found that statement odd but didn’t stop to consider what they were talking about. 

A rough shove, had her stumbling sideways into the side of a man who gruffly maneuvered out of the way, a string of curses on his lips.

“Watch where you’re going little child!” he hissed moving further away from her. 

Lyla scrambled to her feet before she could be trampled.

“Fili! Kili! Dwalin!” She called again completely turned around amongst the sea of people. 

“Master Baggins!” she heard again, as the dull murmurs of the crowd grew ever larger. 

“Bofur?!”

“Ah! Here we find the rest of our celebrated party!” 

Lyla cringed as The Master’s voice boomed over head. She pushed more frantically through the sea of arms and legs, trying to get to her companions. 

She earned several annoyed curses and a few shoves for good measure. 

“We’ve come seeking you, dear ones! Your presence is need at the feast! Come, for the great Thorin Oakenshield awaits!” The Master’s voice still carried above the dull roar of the crowd as Lyla finally broke through the throng of people and spotted Bofur, Nori, Dwalin, Fili and Kili being ushered away from her, the crowd’s pace picking up as they too, rushed towards the large, ornate dining hall.

“Bofur!” Lyla shouted over the roar of the crowd, “Bofur!”

The hatted dwarf gazed around searching, his face betraying his worry. 

His eyes locked on hers and he made to turn around. 

But the crowd was moving too fast. They merely pressed him backwards, towards the banquet hall, their exclamations of joy at his presence echoing in Lyla’s ears.

“Lass!” Bofur called, ignoring the crowd as he fought towards her his eyes frantic, “Just stay there! I’ll find ye. Don’t move!”

That, however, was far easier said than done. 

The movement of the crowd and the haphazard swinging of arms along with the utter disregard for someone so small, sent Lyla stumbling backwards. 

“Git with ye! Back to yer mommy,” a large calloused hand shoved her behind a balding man with thin, shriveled wrinkles and a hard stare.

“Move out of the way!” A high nasally voice shouted at her, as a woman with scraggly brown hair, tattered, stained clothing and beady birdlike eyes set in stark contrast to her taut pale skin, shoved her to the side.

The air was forced from her lungs as she tumbled.

Into the frigid lake water.

The shock of cold sent her reeling and panic kicked in as she started kicking her feet, waving her arms, trying desperately to get to the surface. Her hands scratched at the wooden slats of the walkway as her head broke the surface, gasping and coughing.

'so much for being clean' she though dourly. 

She heard laughter as someone tugged on her now sopping coat and tugged upwards, pulling her from the water, dumping her onto her stomach.

“Well well well!” A low, sinister voice hissed gleefully as she scrambled to her feet, shivers wracking her body. “I’ve gone and caught me quite the prize!” 

Lyla gazed upwards into the face of a tall lanky fellow, his chestnut hair pulled back, long hooked nose crinkled in sinister mirth as his overly large green eyes peered at Lyla’s shivering form.

He was clearly dressed in a fine linens with a breastplate and scabbard, denoting his status in the town guard.

Lyla’s stomach flipped as she scrambled to her feet, watching the man warily as a few stragglers hurried past her. 

The man chuckled as he watched her, “The Master said you’d be safe and tucked away in bed, but here we find you out and about. Clearly disobeying your own ‘master’ I see!” 

Lyla’s heart rate sped up, as she noted the man’s condescending tone and his reference to The Master of Laketown. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. 

The man started towards her, slowly, a devious smirk on his face, eyes narrowed in amusement as he approached. 

Aule help her, what was going on?

“Really, you’ve made this far too easy and for that I thank you little creature. My own master will be well pleased.”

Lyla tripped backwards as the man lunged, too surprised to even scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you think of this little chapter? It's all kinds of confusing and I'm making things rather complicated aren't I? Well I hope you enjoyed it at least. 
> 
> And as always, feedback is encouraged and appreciated! I love hearing from you wonderful readers. 
> 
> And if you're interested, here's a great fem!bilbo AU fic that you'll enjoy. It's Luckyhai5's work, 'Good Morning' and it's great!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	40. Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hard bargain 
> 
> WARNING: Some difficult images ahead. 
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/aM1g87xiSlU  
> http://youtu.be/zkXbzffVl44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lovely people, as promised another chapter in the wee small hours of the morning. But here it is and it's a bit of a long one as well. So, yay for that right? And I suppose I should warn you that I've split things up once more so there's a third important part to this little arc for you to anticipate. That is if you are enjoying the story...
> 
> But a bit thank you to all of those who have reviewed, kudo-ed, and read the story. I love you all.

The man was pulling her to her feet before she had time to register just what was happening. 

Lifting her by the scruff of her jacket until her feet dangled, he sent her a sickeningly bright smile.

Lyla tried to suppress the memory of her dangling in a similar manner with a pale orc sneering in her face, but found the task rather difficult.  
Her heart started hammering. 

“Yes indeed,” the man crooned at her, in an almost childlike voice, “You’ve made this so wonderfully easy. The Master and I certainly thank you for your consideration.”  
Lyla started to struggled, kicking her feet, teeth chattering , arms reaching out grasping onto the man’s arm, soaking his sleeve with her dripping hands.

The man gave her a little shake, growling in annoyance, his beady eyes narrowing into a glare.

“You stop that you little rat,” he hissed, “Quit your jerking about. You’re dripping onto my clothes.”

“Oi let her go!” A strange voice erupted behind the man and then…

‘THWACK’ 

A surprised look crossed the man’s face as his grip loosened and Lyla dropped back downwards. She rolled away as the man crumpled to his knees with a groan and Lyla gaped in surprise at the young boy who stood behind the guardsman, a large pole in his hands.

“Are you Mistress Baggins?” he inquired, his green eyes wide and anxious, his dark curly hair catching the falling snow. 

Lyla nodded her head and scrambled to her feet, distancing herself from the guard who had stilled momentarily.

“Who-whose asking?” she muttered through chattering teeth. 

The boy shook his head and eyed the guard warily, “I’ll have to tell you on the way. We best hurry.”

The boy made to grab Lyla’s arm, but she pulled back hesitating.

She’d much rather find her companions.

“I’ve had quite enough of gallivanting off with strangers if it’s all the same to you,” she muttered gazing upward at the lanky youth before her. 

He stood like awkwardly, his tattered clothing and too big boots making him appear far more filled out than he actually was. 

The boy sighed, “I’m Bain. My father, he knows Legolas Greenleaf, as do you. Now please, we need to go.” 

“Hey! Stop!” Lyla jerked in surprise as another guardsman barreled towards the two of them.

The boy, Bain, grasped her wrist and tugged her along, causing her to stumble momentarily.

“Begging your pardon miss,” He murmured politely, “But we need to go.”

Lyla didn’t argue this time. She just focused on keeping her footing firm as Bain tugged her along, darting down narrow walkways past empty, shuttered homes and shops. 

“Get her! We need the girl,” She heard a guard shout from behind them. The footfalls were getting louder.

Closer. 

Lyla followed blindly, panic welling in her chest. She was completely confused and utterly lost by this point. 

So intent were they on getting away from the ever looming guardsmen, the pair nearly barreled into the dark shaped the leapt from the rooftops.

Arms encircled Lyla, pulling her backwards as Bain was pulled into the grasp of the shadow.

Bard’s shadow.

Lyla struggled and kicked a terrified shriek squeaking from her mouth.

“Let her go!” Bard thundered as he released Bain, “She’s of no use to you! Release her.” 

The man tightened his arm around Lyla’s throat as he chuckled darkly.

“Oh isn’t this lovely!” He sneered, as Lyla tried to quel the panic rising, her arms clawing desperately at the man’s arm.

The man growled and gave her a firm kick to the back of her leg.

“No more of that now, little pet,” He snarled his putrid breath washing over her, “The Master will be most displeased if you aren’t brought back alive.”

“Braimand!” Bard commanded stepping forward, the child Bain, scurrying back into the darkness, “Let. Her. Go.”

Braimand chuckled darkly and tightened his grip for good measure. Lyla choked as he head started going light.

She was getting rather tired of being suffocated thank you very much.

“Now, Bard,” Braimand commanded, “You see that I have the upper hand so you’ll do as I say thank you. You’ve already let one of our little servants escape. I’ll not be letting this little treasure here dart off again.” 

His other hand swept through Lyla’s curls, giving them a hard tug.

Lyla winced in pain, still clutching at the arm that was securely chained around her neck.

Bard held up his hands in surrender face resigned.

“Alright,” he murmured shooting a look into the darkness, “Alright. What is it you want?”

“Nothing so complicated really,” Braimand retorted relinquishing his overly tight grip on Lyla’s neck. She gasped in a lungful of air, her head feeling light. “The Master merely wants to talk to this little creature and he’s rather interested in getting YOUR…imput on matters. You are, after all, his closest relation.”

What?

Bard growled lowly and huffed in annoyance, his eyes shifting to the darkened corner to her left again. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. As will the hobbit,” He sent Lyla an apologetic look. 

The arm tightened around her throat again and Lyla’s struggles renewed.

Braimand laughed, “I do believe I have the upper hand as we discussed previously.” 

Bard chuckled darkly in return, his brown eyes narrowing into a firm glare.

“How certain are you of that really?”

And a blessed sight greeted Lyla as Legolas stepped from the shadows bow drawn, eyes firmly trained on Braimand’s face. 

Lyla had no doubt that the elf would not miss, if he released the arrow. 

“Release her,” Legolas murmured, his light voice dangerously soft.

“Braimand. Release her.” Bard snarled lowly.

Braimand only laughed and stood firm, his grip never loosening.

“You think that I would come unprepared?” He muttered, a sinister joyful timbre lacing his words, “I am never unprepared Bard the Bowman. You’d do well to remember that.”  
A low cry resounded and Bard stiffened, his eyes going wide as another guard (the one they’d knocked down earlier) came into view, his own arm encircling the young Bain’s throat.

Bard let out a strangled noise as he watched Bain’s eyes go wide in terror. 

“Let him go.” He commanded furiously, “Let him go dammit.”

Braimand laughed, “Oh I think not. He’s just the little piece of persuasion we need. But…”

Bard frowned, his shoulders taut in anxiety. “What would have me do?”

Braimand’s grip loosened once more around Lyla’s neck as Legolas lowered his bow and watched the scene warily. Braimand chuckled.

“As I said before. Nothing so complicated. You come with me and this little sprite here,” He gave Lyla a soft shake, “And the three of us will have a nice conversation with The Master. Then your precious little boy can stay out of prison for the time being. And it’ll all be golden.”

Lyla’s eyes widened in understanding and trepidation. 

Of course Bain was Bard’s son. 

But what could The Master want with the both of them?

It made no sense. 

Bard remained silent for a moment, his gaze flicking between Lyla and Bain, a look of frustration marring his features. 

“Well?!” Braimand shouted tightening his grip once more.

Lyla registered Bain’s choking gasps and surmised that he same thing must be happening to him as well. 

“Alright!” Bard conceded, putting his hands up in defeat, “I’ll come. Just…release him.”

The grip dropped from Lyla’s throat, and tightened around her waist as she struggled to get away, coughing and shivering.

The guard Braimand gave her another small kick in the back to stop her protests.

“Now now darling,” He murmured jovially, “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that innocent little child now would we?”

Lyla stilled and sent a pleading look towards Legolas. 

But the elf was already gone. 

“Release him Farad,” Braimand remarked flippantly, “He’s of no use to us now. And make sure you bind Bard’s hands will you?”

Lyla felt the man’s head turn towards Bard once more.

“And don’t think about fighting either Bard dear, I’ve got an archer trained on your son, should your change your mind.”

Braimand spun Lyla around so that she was facing him, her nose pressed into the man’s chest, as he grasped her wrists and pulled the tightly together, pulling a piece of rope from his pocket.

“Now my dear,” he murmured contemptuously, “You’re a feisty little thing, but I’ll not put up with your jerking about any longer.” He tightened the rope around Lyla’s wrists forcefully, making her wince.

He pushed Lyla back until he could see her face properly and peered down his nose at the hobbit before him, his eyes flashing in warning.

“One more move from you and I’ll make sure your company won’t recognize that pretty little face of yours.” 

Lyla’s heart plummeted to her toes as she stared at the cold calculating gaze before her. 

She nodded her head in agreement but remained silent. 

Braimand gave her a hard smack on the back and smiled again.

“Good! I’m glad we could teach you a lesson then little one! Your master will be most pleased I think!” He winked at Lyla. “Now! Come, you lot, we’ve got a meeting to attend to!”  
He grabbed Lyla’s hands and threw the shivering hobbit over his shoulder like a small bag of vegetables. 

From her tilted view, she could make out Bard’s furious and worried glance as he was marched behind Lyla and Braimand.

Aule this was bad.

*****  
Lyla stood bound and shivering in a small room at the back of the large banquet hall, the dull murmur of voices and laughter filling her ears. 

She was so close! So close to her dwarves. 

But as she gazed warily at the two guards standing watch at the door, she knew that if she were to shout that things would end badly. 

And who would hear her anyway?

“Ah! My favorite guests have FINALLY arrived!” Lyla wrinkled her nose as The Master sauntered in his pompous demeanor oozing a greasy arrogance, making Lyla’s stomach coil in dread. 

“You’ll have to forgive my delay, my dears,” He remarked stepping forwards, his large belly swinging lightly as he lumbered about, “I’ve been entertaining such splendid guests.”  
The Master’s eyes shone with glee, as he smirked at Lyla, “But of course you know that don’t you little hobbit.” He stepped forward flexing his chubby, jeweled fingers and grasping her chin, “You’d know that very well wouldn’t you. Tell me Master Baggins was it? Tell me how you enjoy the company of dwarves. Is it rather tedious?”

Lyla remained silent, glaring at the fat fingers squeezing her chin in an uncomfortable manner.

The Master chuckled unruffled by her defiance.

“I knew that there was some spirit in you!” He crooned releasing her chin, “I could see it the moment you stumbled into the hall. And then,” He eyes took on a faraway look as his lips into a thin line, “And then the whispering. So tantalizingly sinister…and beautiful. It just oozed from you. I could hear it.” He jerked back to the present and gazed down intently at Lyla whose heart rate had spiked at the mention of the voice. 

He’d heard it?

She prayed he didn’t search her pockets.

“Well! No matter,” He remarked ruffling Lyla’s hair, “You’re here now and quite conveniently I might add. Yes. You’ll do splendidly as my leverage.”

“She’s got nothing to do with this and you know it,” Bard hissed interrupting The Master’s tirade.

A surprised smirk lit the fat man’s face.

“SHE?” He gazed back at Lyla, his eyes scrutinizing her face carefully, “Ah that does make a difference doesn’t it! Yes. Yes this is most splendid indeed. I knew they were attached to you, but NOW?! Oh now the fun really can begin.” 

Lyla caught Bard’s gaze and saw the regret swimming in his large brown eyes. 

She gave him a gentle smile. There was no way he could have know.

“Now! My darling guests, shall we discuss our little contract?”

“Pardon?” Lyla murmured in surprise before she could catch herself. 

The Master smiled, “Ah! The angel speaks! What beautiful music escapes thy lips sweet flower,”

Lyla wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Yes your contract milady. You see it’s all quite simple,” He stepped closer to her, his eyes betraying a sinister calculating nature that bubbled beneath the surface of his perceive joviality. “When this quest of yours is complete and you slay your dragon, I need you to assure that my town will receive their dues.”

Was he serious?

Lyla snorted.

“What do you need me for? Can’t you convince Master Oakenshield of your ‘need’?” 

She sent The Master a glare.

It was returned with a placating smile. “Indeed, the dwarf king and myself have been in discussion this morning but I felt that his attention was rather…unfocused at the time. I need to reassure myself that I will receive my due when the time comes.”

“And what if this plan backfires?” Bard interjected, snarling at The Master, but standing firmly rooted to his spot as the guards stood at the read with bows drawn. “What if the dragon is NOT slain? What then? What of the people?”

The Master laughed, “Oh you simple fool, honestly I don't know WHAT my sister saw in the naivety of your little mind. Do you not read the prophesies? No? Well!”   
He clapped his hands and paced towards Bard, a sickeningly sweet smile gracing his lips, scraggly blonde hair swinging around his shoulders. “I believe it’s an ancient Dwarvish prophesy really. It states that ‘when the birds of yore return to Erebor, then the reign of the best will end.’” 

Lyla's head was spinning. The Master and Bard were related? It seemed so...

odd.

“That’s hardly reassuring.” Bard snorted derisively. "What tangible guarantee do you have that Laketown will be spared?"

“Oh none at all, but what care I for this rickety old town?” The Master murmured contemptuously his voice darkening, “I deserve a town that glitters, adorned with jewels and brightly colored homes. No more grey drab, hideous homes, rickety walkways, nasty little…” 

He cut himself off abruptly forcing his breathing to even out. Lyla watched in a terrified fascination as the red coloring slowly drained from the rounded face. 

The sickening smile returned and he turned to face Bard again.

“No I have no guarantee that Laketown will be spared. But I do have guarantee that the dwarves will be successful. The White Wizard has confirmed it.” The Master smirked, “Though he complained that the quest was foolishness and a vain glory search, he did remark that fate seemed to reside with Thorin Oakenshield.”

The Master clapped his hands together delightedly, “And as it is, I have my plans all in order for when and if the dragon descends upon us. So you see, it’s really nothing to worry about.”

He turned abruptly to Lyla a devious, sinister light dancing in his eyes. 

“That my dear darling lovely little lady, is where you come in. You must assure me that I will receive my fair share of the treasure as compensation for my generosity.”

Lyla was stunned.

Was he mad?

“How can I guarantee that?” She muttered confusedly, “I can’t even guarantee I’ll make it out of this whole ordeal alive.”

The Master laughed, a false hollow laugh, and stepped closer, his putrid scent filling Lyla’s nose. Out of reflex, she leaned back, away from the offending smell. 

“Oh I believe you highly underestimate yourself, little hobbit,” He muttered darkly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hear the dark callings, the hissing whispers that surround you. I know you have something hidden away, a trick that will aid you in the future. I know you will succeed.” 

Abruptly he leaned back and straightened his furs as he spoke, “So assure me, little one, of your loyalty to my cause and I’ll happily return you to your company. Though,” And The Master chuckled, “I’m sure Master Oakenshield will be most   
displeased that his little pet had escaped.”

Pet?

Lyla Baggins was no pet.

Indeed not!

She glowered at The Master and forced her shivering form to stand straighter, more defiant.

“Ah! There’s that fighting spirit I’ve come to recognize. Spritely little thing you are.” The Master clapped his hands together in merriment, “So, my dear, do we have an accord.”  
He gazed at her expectantly.

“No.”

The smile dropped in a flash and two beady eyes narrowed in contempt. 

“I had feared that you would say that my dear.” The leader of Laketown sighed dramatically lacing his fat fingers together, “And now I fear that I must show you MY leverage in order to sway your decision I think. Come, the two of you, follow me.” 

Lyla was pulled forward by the guard Farad as Bard was shoved along with Braimand’s help. 

They were marched along a narrow passage at the back of the hall that twisted quite suddenly and then started to descend downwards. A dark murky staircase led lower, beneath one of the only structures to reside on the lakeshore. 

Lyla’s eyes had a hard time adjusting and she stumble frequently, ramming into the back of Farad, who hissed in contempt.

The narrow staircase opened up quite suddenly as light filter into Lylas vision from the various lamps and torches dotting the large underground cavern of a room. 

Lyla’s eyes widened in horror and her hands raised to her mouth as she fought he urge to relieve the contents of her stomach.

Oh by Aule no.

NO.

The Master peered back at Lyla, twisted glee adorning his face.

“So what do you say now little hobbit? I already KNOW I've secured Bard's loyalty for this quest. But, what of you? Do we have an accord? Or do I bring the structure down?” He smirked at her, eyes far too bright in merriment, “Do I drown the little dears?”

Lyla swallowed back the bile rising in her throat as she start at the small huddled forms of dozens of children, filthy and terrified, as they sat chained together on hard dirt floor, their haunted eyes and thin faces forever burned into Lyla’s mind. 

She tried to quell the tears and bit back a choked sob as her voice cracked.

“Yes. Yes, we have an accord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry...This was a really emotionally taxing chapter for me to write, in case you can't tell. I honestly didn't fathom that I would create a character so utterly horrible, sickening and deplorable as The Master. And yet here he is...yeah it was a hard chapter for me to write. Really Really hard. 
> 
> But if you'd like something else to read, take a peak at Luckyhai5's 'Good Morning' it's a great story that might just lift your spirits from the gloom this chapter may have settled over you.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	41. The Power Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master manipulates...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all you amazing reviewers! I was so happy to see you guys so invested in the last chapter. Thank you! Seriously.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter as well. It was a rather difficult one to write and I don't necessarily feel as though I did it justice, but I'll let you be the judge of it.

Lyla’s eyes stayed fixed on the tiny frightened faces, the large eyes filled with fear and pleading, begging her to help them. Her heart was twisting in knots as she was pulled out of their sight and back up the stairs.

She heard their soft whimpers and cries of anguish and terror as they were once again left alone.

A fury built up in her chest as she tried to maneuver from Braimand’s grasp. 

She didn’t want to leave them. 

They were helpless. 

They didn’t deserve this. 

She dug her heels into the ground and twisted her torso trying to tear away from the annoyed guardsman’s grasp.

Her arm was wrenched painfully for the effort. 

“Come along then darling,” The Master crooned mockingly, running a chubby finger along Lyla’s cheek, “We best get the little pet back to her keepers, yes?” He chuckled, “Oh what a glorious reunion that shall be.” 

Lyla stopped walking, hissing at the man’s advancements and jerked her face away, glaring up at The Master.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” She snarled lowly, eyes narrowed and a furious scowl on her face.

The Master merely laughed in reply.

“Oh what spirit!” He chortled, the folds of his belly moving as laughter fell from his foul lips. He then nudged her, none too politely, up the staircase and back into the winding hallway, “My my. How interesting a creature you are. I wouldn’t mind keeping you here while your dwarves went on ahead. There’d never be a dull moment! That’s for certain.”

Lyla’s stomach dropped and nausea pummeled her senses.

He wasn’t serious was he? 

She gave him a hard look even as her heart hammered in her chest. 

The man only leaned closer, his putrid breath wafting through Lyla’s nose.

“I could keep you here, you know,” He whispered mockingly, “No one could really stop me. And there's something about you, something powerful. I can feel it calling to me.” He whispered lowly, making Lyla's stomach twist uncomfortably. 

Lyla’s heart hammered harder the blood pumping in her ears as The Master leaned closer, his lips barely ghosting her cheek.

She jerked away and spit in the man’s face. 

And she knew it was a mistake to do so as soon as it happened. 

The Master’s eyes darkened and a cold fury washed over his features as he wiped the spit from his cheek slowly.

His hand suddenly whipped around and caught Lyla’s own cheek with a loud *SLAP*jerking the Hobbit’s head back from the sheer force of the blow. 

Bard let out a horrified gasp and Lyla’s ears registered the signs of a struggle from behind her. 

“Don’t you touch her!” He thundered at The Master, grunting when something connecting with his abdomen.

The Master ignored Bard’s admonishment.

“You are one pet that has a little too much spirit,” He hissed in her ear, eyes narrowed a deep scowl on his face as he dug his fingernails into her upperarm, making Lyla wince.  
Seemingly satisfied with that small display of weekness, The Master straightened his coat and admired himself for a moment before turning his attention back towards Lyla.

“Come along then, little creature,” he shoved her again, her awkward footing making her stumble.

She heard Bard’s angry growl. 

And The Master only laughed harder. 

The guard, Braimand, grabbed ahold of Lyla’s rope bound hands and started pulling her forward, like a sheep, towards the main hall.   
Where the company was. 

Lyla was confused though. Wouldn’t giving her over to her companions merely incite their anger against The Master? What advantage would he have against the dwarves if she were set free to them once more?

She didn’t understand.

What else was The Master hiding?

She cringed in understanding, though, as they stepped into the large hall. Dozens of soldiers stood, stationed around the room, weapons drawn and at the ready, waiting for their command to strike. 

Weapons pointed at the room that was packed with the citizens of Laketown, their faces wary and mistrustful of Lyla and The Master as they stepped forward. Lyla’s eyes flicked between the citizens and the members of her company who were separated and being guarded by three men apiece. 

Ah.

The bell chimed in her head as the pieces of the puzzle slid into the place.

It was a power play. The Master wanted to show his dominances, to show just how much control he has over the people of the town. 

The Master had planned this all along, to separate the company. And, he was using the members of the town to enforce that separation. 

And judging by the firm, thin frowns and the hardened gazes she received from the men surrounding the dwarves, they were taking their task VERY seriously. 

But she couldn’t blame them for that.

Not really. 

Not now that she understood what had been done to them. 

What had been taken away. And what they could lose if they didin’t obey. 

Lyla swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and searched the familiar faces of her scattered company members. Stripped of their weapons, which were laying in a pile near the head of the table, each dwarf wore a similar scowl, their stances taut and rigid. From her vantage point, she noted Dwalin’s hands were balled into fists and Dori’s bared teeth and enraged glare. Bofur had a deep scowl and Balin stared contemptuously at The Master, his eyes darting between him and Lyla. The rest of the dwarves, though, were obscured from her view.

But, she did note, that none of the dwarves fought to get away and get to their weapons.

They must have understood the severity of the situation, even if they didn’t know the exact reason. Surely they must have known that The Master was controlling the citizens of the town. 

They wouldn’t willingly harm someone who has just as much a victim as they were. 

And, even if they could get past the citizen sentry, there were still the actual guards to contend with.

The guards who had very real and very dangerous weapons in their possession. 

And so everyone remained still, caught in a dangerous silence. 

“Well!” The Master’s voice broke the suffocating tension, “I would say welcome, but I can see that you’re already rather dissatisfied with this evening’s developments.”  
The Master stepped past Lyla and patted her on the head.

“But fear not, oh great dwarves of Erebor, I come with a gift!” He turned back and smirked at Lyla, “A wayward little pet, returning to her masters. What a glorious reunion!”  
A dull murmur of indignation rose amongst the dwarves. 

The sight of Thorin, though, made Lyla’s mouth go dry with fear. He stood, tall, proud, blue eyes blazing with a fury that she’d never witnessed before. His hands were balled into fists, much like Dwalin’s, but he was making such at tight, restraining fist, that the veins on his forearms were bulging outward.

With teeth bared, and a low growl escaping his lips, he watched with hawk eyes as The Master approached.

“What did you do,” He murmured, his voice a dangerous husky tone, “If you’ve harmed—“ 

“Oh nothing so absurd, don’t be ridiculous!” The Master chastised, “Your little, hobbit, was it? Well, she and I had a little chat.” And then, he smirked at Thorin, standing a few feet away, his round form blocking most of the dwarf king from Lyla’s view. “Mistress Baggins has agreed to the conditions of a new contract, one that ensures a fair share of the treasure being turned over to the citizens of Esgaroth for their hospitality towards you and your company.”

Whispers erupted from the townspeople as they gazed between Lyla and The Master in confusion. Some of women started to wring their hands together in stress, their eyes nearly wild looking as their gazes darted around the room.

Undoubtedly betting their chances on whether or not they’d survive should they try to make a dash for the cellar where the children were kept. 

Lyla also noted that several members of the company were getting restless as well, their stances shifting, their frowns deepening, eyes narrowing.

‘Don’t do it,’ she pleaded silently, ‘None of you. Don’t risk it.’

Thorin’s reaction to The Master, however, was to merely scoff derisively. “It does not sound as though this ‘contract’ was a valid one.” Thorin muttered condescendingly, “It sounds rather like you coerced her into agreeing. Am I correct?”

The Master chuckled, “Well that’s certainly one way of putting things. I prefer, though,” The Master chuckled, “I prefer to call it having the upper hand. And as it stands,” He stated flippantly, picking at his fingernails, “You’re not really in a position to argue the ‘validity’ of a contract.”

Lyla felt the cool tip of sharp metal against her throat and cursed silently at her inattentiveness.

She heard the company erupted into furious mutterings and promises of harm to anyone who dared to harm the hobbit.

Lyla’s eyes locked onto Thorin, as The Master moved to give the dwarf a clear view of his ‘persuasive techniques’, and she registered the dark fury marring Thorin’s features as he assessed her predicament. His gaze softened for a moment as he gazed at her, meeting her own stare with his. 

But in a flash that gaze was gone and he snarled at The Master.

“Release her. She’s of no use to you.”

“Oh you are a stubborn one!” The round man laughed heartily, sending shivers of trepidation down Lyla’s spine, “However, I can assure you that she is a most valued asset. She can ensure that I receive my dues.”

“And why would she ever do that?” Thorin hissed, his eyes narrowed as he stood, anxious and infuriated. 

Thorin’s gaze swept through the crowd of townspeople thoughtfully, his face contorting into one of suspicion and realization.

Lyla could see the wheels turning in his head and she knew that he suspected that everything came back to the people of the town.   
The Master caught his looks and chuckled again.

“I see you’ve started to catch on,” the fat man crooned cheerfully, “Yes indeed, I’ve merely appealed to the young hobbit’s sensitivity and concern for others. Nothing special really. And as it is,” He clapped his hands together again, “As it is she’s agree to help defeat Smaug to get to that lovely lovely treasure.”

Thorin shot Lyla a curious look. It was clear that he was unsure just what The Master was holding over Lyla’s head. 

Or the townspeople for that matter. But he knew it was significant. 

But he merely sighed and gave The Master a hard look.

“And what if we don’t succeed. What if the dragon destroys us and the town?”

The man hummed thoughtfully as he stared back at Thorin.

“Well,” he remarked after a moment, “What care I for this dilapidated and depressing town? It might be a mercy to have it destroyed. And should that happen, don’t you worry yourself about how I will fare.” He remarked dramatically at Thorin, “I know how to take good care of myself, you rest assured. “

Lyla wanted to gag at The Master’s pompous and sinister nature. 

The blade at her throat prevented this though. 

Thorin gave The Master a long hard look, clearly sizing the man up, judging him. 

But he said nothing. 

This made The Master smile contentedly.

“Well then, Master Oakenshield, do I have an agreement on your part that you will uphold the contract that your little hobbit has entered into, or do you, perhaps, need more motivation?” 

Lyla felt the small sting of pressure as the blade at her throat lightly pierced the skin. 

She let out a hiss of surprise as she felt the slow trickle of warm liquid running down her throat. 

The company went into an uproar, furious howls of contempt escaping their lips in both Westron and their native tongue. They pushed against the townspeople who desperately tried to hold the dwarves back. 

“Stop!” She cried, trying to quell the growing chaos. 

But Bifur managed to knock two of his ‘guards’ down and made to get out of the third’s grasp.

Bofur, too, had broken free, and was clamoring towards Lyla, as the townspeople desperately tried to contain and enraged dwarf. 

“Let me go, ye simple minded gluttons!” He cursed as he tried to push past them.

An arrow whizzing past his ear had him stopping short, gazing around at the guards who stood, with bows up and waiting.

And then another arrow fired at one of the townsmen—hitting him in the arm—as he charged towards the doorway leading down to the cellar where the children were chained. He dropped with a groan of agony, clutching at his arm, where the shaft stuck out awkwardly.

Another arrow flew over Dwalin’s head and hit a fleeing woman in the shoulder as she tried to make it towards the door, her sobs switching from horrified and terrified to agony-filled cries of pain. 

But no one dared move to help the writhing woman.

It became apparent that the guards were ready to fire at ANYONE who dared to move from their spot. And the size of their numbers and speed at which they dispatched their weapons, made it nearly impossible to move at all. 

The dwarves stilled and stared about in confusion and horror. Their gazes eventually swiveled back to Lyla as they gazed at her warily, clearly wondering just what she had gotten herself into. 

The Master laughed again and came closer to Lyla, ruffling her curls. 

She cringed.

“You see, Master Oakenshield, it’s all quite simple. You do what I want and I don’t harm your company, or your little ‘pet’ or any other…innocents that might come to harm should you refuse me.” He ran his fingers through Lyla’s hair again.

She felt as though she was going to be sick. 

Thorin’s face had darkened, his frown a terrifying thing to behold, as he nodded towards The Master in resigned agreement. 

“Most wonderful!” The man cheered, clapping Lyla on the back as the guard released the knife’s pressure on her throat. “Well, I believe that this has been a rather productive and tiring meeting. You do have a long day tomorrow after all.” 

He smiled cheekily at the dwarves and Lyla, giving the hobbit a wink as his gaze passed over him. 

Turning slowly, he gave a small bow and clapped his hands together again.

“My guards will show you out one by one and then you’ll be free to return to your lodgings for the night. You can retrieve your weapons in the morning, of course, before you leave. Can't have you facing a dragon without any weaponry!” He smiled a big toothy grin, his rotting teeth truly an appalling sight. 

He turned back to Lyla and regarded her carefully for a moment.

“And make sure, little pet,” he sneered at her, “That your masters abide by MY rules. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate events to take place, now would we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Sound off below!
> 
> And take a peek at Luckyhai5's 'Good Morning'-You'll love it.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	42. Tempest of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darker deeds are at work
> 
> Music:   
> http://youtu.be/cbWIXdW1zlE  
> http://youtu.be/1QPnnB-99q0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such a great response for the last chapter! It is so appreciated and I hope you enjoy this next chapter as well. I had promised to post a second chapter yesterday, but a rather unpleasant migraine completely destroyed my day and made me useless...so here's a nice LONG chapter for you. I hope you enjoy it.

The walk back towards their lodging house was a tense one. 

Guardsmen were posted along the entire walkway from the banquet hall, their tall, masked faces, sending shivers down Lyla’s spine

Bofur and Dwalin stood on either side of Lyla their gazes darkened with a fury that set Lyla more on edge than the guards did. She suspected that the slightest disturbance would set them off. 

Dwalin, though, kept a firm hand on Lyla’s shoulder, squeezing his fingers every few moments to reassure Lyla of his presence. 

‘And to keep himself in check most likely.’ Lyla considered, thoughtfully. 

But as she watched Thorin leading Bard (whose hands were still bound in rope) towards their lodgings, her steps started to feel like lead. 

She could feel the tension rolling off the dwarf king like giant crashing waves. His posture was rigid, one hand balled into a fist as he stomped down the walkway ahead of her, his wavy ebony hair swinging with each step he took.

Lyla wrung her hands together in trepidation.

To Lyla’s horror, as soon as they stepped through the door, Thorin let out a guttural roar of anger and twisted Bard around, slamming the tall bowman into a wall. His fist connected with man’s jaw.

“What did you do?!” He thundered his eyes narrowed, teeth bared as he stared at Bard. “Answer me!”

“NO!” Lyla shouted trying to break from Dwalin’s grasp, but the warrior held his hand firm as Bofur, too, grabbed onto her other arm.

“No lass,” He whispered, “No. Let him handle this.”

“No!” Lyla shouted again, twisting her arms to break free from their firm grips, but her friends held firm, refusing to relinquish their hold on the little hobbit. “He’s got it wrong. He didn’t DO anything! Thorin let him go!”

Thorin’s head jerked towards Lyla’s voice, his eyes narrowed, a cold fury written on his face.

“Let him go,” She requested again, her gaze firm as she stared back at the enraged dwarf, “He didn’t do anything.”

“If I remember correctly,” Thorin snarled at her, his grip tightening on Bard’s tunic as he slammed the bowman into the wall again, “He tried to kill you when we first arrived. What could have possibly changed since then?!”

“He tried to protect me,” she murmured leveling her gaze and narrowing her eyes at Thorin. “He doesn’t deserve your anger. He’s in the same predicament.”

The change was so sudden that Lyla was left breathless. Thorin suddenly dropped his hands, sending the stunned bowman tumbling to the floor. Turning on his heel, he marched back toward Lyla and pried her from Bofur and Dwalin’s protesting grasp.

“Come with me,” he muttered, his voice clipped, but devoid of the fury she’d just witnessed.

Dwalin, however, was hesitant to release his charge. 

Thorin growled and ran a hand through his hair.

“Dwalin,” He commanded, his voice steady and low, “Let her go. We have to talk. Too much has happened.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Dwalin remarked, unmoving from his post next to Lyla, “But I’ll not be leavin’ her to fend for herself when yer ragin’ on like this.”

“So be it.” Thorin remarked, “Stand outside the door if you must, but this is one conversation I’d prefer to have alone.”

His furious blue eyes never left the hobbit’s face. He stared at her, his face contorted into a scowl, eyes narrowed, calculating as he grabbed ahold of Lyla’s upper arm and pulled her along up the stairs, towards her bedroom.

Lyla’s head was spinning, her heart hammering in her chest.

And a great stone had settled in her belly as Thorin pushed her gently through the door and shut it behind himself. 

Lyla sank onto the bed, her feet dangling over the side as she wrapped her arms around herself, her still damp clothing making her shudder. She felt the cold crushing fingers of dread as she stared at Thorin Oakenshield, who was muttering and pacing, his hands clenched into tight fists. 

Thorin turned to her, his eyes bright and blazing, his face contorted into an angry scowl.

“You purposely disobeyed my request to stay here!” He grumbled his face pinched in fury, “Do you not have ANY sense of self-preservation? Any at all? You set yourself up to get captured! You played right into The Master’s trap.”

She didn’t understand. Not completely

“It was a BATH Thorin. All I wanted was to get cleaned up. How could I have known…they would have caught me either way.” she remarked her eyes narrowed in contempt. “The man who captured me knew where I was supposed to be. Either way they would have come after me.”

“But you would have had more protection had you just listened!” Thorin’s ire was rising along with his tone, “Dwalin or Fili and Kili could have stayed and watched over things. We might not be in this predicament if you had just stayed put!”

Lyla gaped at the dwarf king dumbfounded, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Had he really just said that?

Her eyes narrowed and she frowned at Thorin.

“How was keeping me imprisoned here going to prevent that…that rotund piece of filth from scheming to get what he wants?!” She muttered darkly. 

“I was trying to keep you safe!” Thorin growled, “Haven’t you had your fill of all the strain and stress? I did what I thought was best.”

“You can’t keep me locked up!” Lyla shouted her own anger spiking, “And you can’t make decisions for me Thorin Oakenshield. Haven’t you learned that yet! I am not to be chastised, coddled or treated like I am an incapable creature! It’s MY decision what I do, thank you. And all I wanted was to get cleaned up and you begrudged me that small relief.”

“I should have known you’d try something like that. I should have figured that your…your charms would sway the others.” He mutterd, shooting her a glare, though it was half-hearted. 

Lyla blew out a puff of air and rubbed at her temples. She could feel the beginnings of a headache forming.

“Charms indeed,” she muttered in annoyance, shooting Thorin a glare of her own “You are an idiot Thorin Oakenshield.”

The dwarf’s eyes widened and he started to protest, but Lyla held her hand up.

“Whatever has happened has happened. It’s done. I’ve agreed to give The Master what he thinks is a fair share of the treasure. And that’s the end of it really.”

“And what in Mahal’s name could you have possibly been thinking doing such a thing?” Thorin growled as he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “Do you realize what you’ve just done? You’ve made a deal without knowing just how much The Master wants!”

“I’m sorry,” Lyla remarked quietly. And she was. To a degree.“But I did what I felt to be right in the situation. I know it’s not ideal, but I didn’t really have a choice.

Her emotions swelled, crashing overhead and Lyla had to choke back a sob as the image of the small frightened faces flashed through her mind, their eyes pleading for someone to save them. 

“If gold will solve the problem then I’d gladly give it away.”

Thorin groaned at her response.

“Do you truly not understand what you’ve done? How are we to pay a debt we cannot estimate? He could demand the whole mountain for Durin’s sake! He WAS vague enough to get away with something like that. So, why? Why? Would you do that so willingly?”

“Because—“ She swallowed closing her eyes, trying to halt the onslaught of anguish she felt for the people of Laketown, for the frightened children…

“Because I couldn’t…”

“What?!” Thorin demanded eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Couldn’t what? What did he do to you?”

“Not me.” She remarked quietly wringing her hands together out of habit, “It’s not me. It’s the townspeople, they…he’s—“

“And what care I for those ruddy money grubby filthy scavengers?” Thorin snarled, “They’re manipulating us into serving them. Why should I care about their—“

“He has their children!” Lyla shouted, cutting Thorin’s tirade off. Tears were in her eyes as she gazed at the stunned dwarf, his mouth was still agape, his eyes widened in shock.

“Their children Thorin. He took their children. He—he’s keeping them locked up. That’s why they didn’t fight back. That’s why they went along with his scheme. They didn’t have much other choice.”

“And you? What method of ‘persuasion’ did he use on you.” Thorin’s voice had gone soft, his anger dissipating as he gazed warily at the hobbit.

Lyla swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly, trying to assuage the tears that threatened to fall.

She tried to steel her nerves. 

“He’ll flood the cavern with them in it if I don’t…” She bit back the sob that was stuck in her throat. Her chest felt tight. “if we don’t complete this quest and give him what he wants, they’ll-they’ll…”

She brought her hand up, pressing it to her mouth to stop the noises coming from her throat as shudders wracked her body.

They were just children. Innocent helpless children. 

Children for Aule’s sake.

Thorin swore and started pacing, his posture going rigid once more as he rubbed at his eyes tiredly, another growl escaping his lips.

“Of course.” He muttered pacing once more, “Of course he’d do this. And we played right into his…Confound it all!”

Thorin growled again and turned abruptly, striding towards Lyla, eyes hooded and unreadable, fists clenched tightly.

Lyla unconsciously flinched and shifted backwards at the dwarf’s sudden approach.

Thorin’s eyes widened and he stilled, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face before he let out a low grown of frustration and brought his hand up to rub at his eyes again.  
“Forgive me,” he muttered forcibly, flexing his fingers as he removed his coat. “I’m not trying to frighten you. It has just been a…trying day.” 

He took a hesitant step forward, not nearly as forceful or menacing this time, and gently placed the soft, fur-lined coat around Lyla’s shoulders tugging the material until it completely wrapped Lyla inside its warm embrace. 

And then he stopped and gazed at the small bundled hobbit, his eyes studying her face thoughtfully. His thumb brushed over Lyla’s cheek where she’d been struck and Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he must have guessed the reason for her marred skin. 

The dwarf king sighed again, his expression shifting to one of contrition and defeat.

“Forgive me for my harsh words,” he whispered placing his hands on her shoulders as he knelt before her, “For now, let us focus on what we can do to solve this unfortunate…problem.”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance on that score?”

Lyla’s eyes widened and Thorin jerked to his feet in surprise as they both turned to the doorway. Lyla’s face split into a relieved, if confused, smile.

“Gandalf,” She breathed as the grey-clad wizard stood tall in the doorway, leaning on his staff, a small smile playing on his own lips. 

“I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life, Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf conceded, his eyes alight in relief and contentment. “And I would have been here sooner, too, but it appears that Mirkwood is far more dangerous than we had originally supposed,” he shook his head thoughtfully a small frown marring his features. His eyes looked…tired.

“I am very glad to see you Gandalf,” Lyla remarked, a sense of hope flooding her veins. “It’s been an…interesting adventure thus far.”  
Gandalf chuckled humorlessly and shook his head.

“Yes. I’ve come to recognize that. This quest has not turned out quite as I had anticipated. And, from what I’ve been told, it would appear that the sickness in Mirkwood has spread.”

“How did you…?”

Lyla noticed how Thorin’s eyes narrowed and he turned with a frown, to see Bard the Bowman standing in the doorway, his bonds cut free. And behind him, stood Legolas, the elf prince, a small smile on his face. 

“Legolas!” Lyla exclaimed surprised, “When did you arrive? How did you…” and then she gazed back at Gandalf confusedly, “How did BOTH of you manage to get in here without being seen?”

Gandalf chuckled again and smiled at the hobbit, “I can avoid being seen if I wish. And Legolas was tending to some…urgent business. He knew that his efforts would be better spent tending to the plans.”

Plans?

“What plans?” Thorin muttered suspiciously, his gaze shifting between Gandalf, Bard, and Legolas.

Bard’s large, brown-eyes gaze landed on Lyla, a small, contrite smile playing on his lips.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” He muttered, stepping more fully into the room, “But I believe that we must speak of this issue together.”

Thorin snarled and was on his feet, “And why should I trust YOU?” He took a step forward, eyes flashing dangerously as he stood in front of Lyla’s huddled form on the bed.  
But the hobbit wasn’t grateful. In fact, she was rather annoyed.

“Oh hush,” she remarked, “He tried to save my life Thorin. I told you that before. And The Master hates him as much as he does us. Why else would he be sent here with us?”

“Indeed, the hobbit is correct, Master Oakenshield,” Gandalf remarked in a clipped tone eyes narrowed at the dwarf. “And we do not have the time, nor I the patience, to contend with your stubbornness today. Far too many things to do.”

Thorin folded his arms, a scowl on his face.

But he remained silent. 

*****  
“These guards of The Master are not normal men,” Gandalf remarked puffing on his great pipe, his face thoughtful as he stared into the roaring fire.

Thirteen dwarves, an elf, a man, and a hobbit sat squished in the main room, sorting through the complicated, chaotic situation they found themselves in. 

“What do you mean, they aren’t ‘normal’?” Gloin wondered aloud, his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at the wizard. “How many different types of men are there?”

“He means, “Bard remarked quietly, his voice gravelly and filled with anger, “That the men The Master has employed are not men from Laketown. They do not hail from here. When The Master took over, those men became the main guard.”

“They are the Easternlings from the valley of Rhun,” Gandalf remarked, “They are a people who swear a deep hatred with all free peoples and have frequently made alliances with the enemy in the past.”

Gandalf let out a large puff of smoke and frowned.

“I confess I had not anticipated them having taken over Laketown. That is a most unfortunate development. But,” He sighed and turned towards Thorin, “There is far more at work here than just the evil of Smaug. And it will not be ignoring us, I can tell you that.”

What was he talking about?

“You must stop speaking riddles, wizard,” Thorin snapped, his eyes trained on Gandalf, as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, “What is Durin’s name is going on? And what has it got to do with Erebor.”

Gandalf’s pipe disappeared and he rubbed his hands together carefully, eyeing the members of the company assembled together. 

“There is talk of a necromancer, a sorcerer who can summon the dead, living in Dol Guldur, the old fortress deep within the heart of the Greenwood. And though Smaug may owe allegiance to no one, if he should side with the enemy, he could be used to terrible effect.”

“So you believe this…necromancer plans to build up his forces and try to enlist the help of a dragon?” Lyla remarked confusedly, “Why?”

Gandalf frowned as he eyed the hobbit carefully, “That I do not know yet. Things remain hidden, unseen. I cannot say for certain what the enemy plans. But this quest of yours has set in motion things of a sinister nature. Things that cannot be undone.”

Lyla furrowed her brows, her heart hammering. Things didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense.

“But why aid The Master?” She blurted, “He wants us to defeat the dragon. He only cares for gold…” her eyes locked with the wizard’s wearied ones and doubt crept into her heart, “doesn’t he?”

“I have no doubt,” Gandalf remarked carefully, “That The Master does indeed desire the treasures guarded by Smaug. However, his schemes seem to run far deeper than a mountain of gold. He has far bigger plans in store, that I can promise you. And, I do not believe that he holds hope that your quest will be successful.”

Lyla let in a sharp breath as her eyes widened. 

If he didn’t believe that they’d survive, then why…?

“Why make a deal then?” She choked out, panic welling in her, “Why promise to release those children if—if he didn’t think that we’d survive?”

“He means to use this quest as a means to remove us permanently,” Balin muttered lowly, his voice laced with contempt and weariness. 

“But what if we DO succeed?” Fili inquired, his face contemplative, “What if Smaug IS defeated and we reclaim the mountain?”

“Then I’m certain the Master would collect on his debt, however high that may be.”

Thorin frowned and glared at the wizard, “It would appear that he never actually ‘settled’ on a price with our burglar. She did, however, agree to his conditions.”

“Ah..” Gandalf remarked shooting Lyla a pitying look, “And he used the children of Laketown to appeal to your better nature I’m assuming Master Baggins?”

Lyla didn’t say anything, her throat was tight.

She nodded.

Gandalf snorted. “Yes, well. Then at least we know what he plans to do should your quest succeeds.”

He leveled his gaze at Thorin, his lips pulled into a thin line as he studied the dwarf king carefully.

“Mark my words Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf muttered, “The Master of Laketown and whatever other alliances he has, mean to start a war, should your quest succeed. 

“Bah!” Bofur exclaimed folding his arms together, “That’s a nasty bit of work right there, that’s certain.” 

Thorin snorted, “That’s a foolhardy plan,” He muttered gazing around the quiet room, “No one can guarantee that the dragon Smaug will cooperate. What if he lays waste to Laketown? What if he kills The Master, the Easternlings. Everyone?”

Gandalf sighed again, “I agree that there is a chance that such desolation will happen. In fact, it seems rather likely that Smaug will retaliate and attack the surrounding peoples. However,” He fixed a firm look on Thorin, “I believe that The Master has unseen forces at work. And, there’s still this necromancer to contend with. If he IS summoning the dead, he certainly can appeal to a dragon.” 

Gandalf leaned back in his chair, “They are not so uncooperative as you might suspect,” He ruminated, “Dragons are cunning and highly intelligent and will listen to reason if they get a bargain for it. And, since the enemy does not care for the gold within The Lonely Mountain, it might be easier to sway the dragon into allegiance. Think of it, if Smaug was given the chance to have free reign over the land, control over the people, without the worry that someone will attack his trove of glittering jewels, don’t you suppose he’d take that chance?” 

Lyla’s head was spinning. 

How could this be happening? 

Things were falling apart. 

“Why do the people not fight?” Dwalin demanded, his glare shifting between Gandalf and Bard. “Surely they’d risk the chance to get their children free and escape from The Master’s hold?”

Bard sighed, “They would.” He conceded, “But by the time they realized what was happening within the town, it was too late. We all trusted The Master, we all believed him to be a good man.” Bard snorted, “I believed he was a good man. But little by little, we were stripped of our goods, our food stores…our weapons. Many are too sick or too weak to defend themselves.” He gazed around at the company of dwarves, sorrow marring his features, “And then he took their children. It forced the people into near complete submission. They cannot hope to free their children, the pit is guarded constantly. And they cannot hope to fight The Easternlings while so ill equipped. It would be suicide.” 

“And why have the elves not helped before now?” Dori countered, his face pulled into a look of anxious annoyance. “What has stopped them from marching against the Easternlings?”

“We’ve had our own evil to contend with,” Legolas remarked lowly, “Surely you remember the state Mirkwood was in?” 

“So you abandoned these people, just as you abandoned the dwarves with they were forced from their homes when Smaug first came!” Thorin thundered, eyes filled with contempt. 

“We did not know that the enemy was so far entrenched within the structure of Laketown, Thorin Oakenshield,” Legolas narrowed his eyes at the dwarf king before him, “And if you were not already aware, my father is not…as he once was.” Quite suddenly, Legolas’ gaze dropped and a thoughtful faraway look washed over him, “His thoughts have been clouded…until recently.” 

Bright blue eyes locked onto Lyla’s face and a small smile formed on Legolas' lips, much to hobbit's confusion. What did she have to do with all this?

“We couldn’t do something then, but we CAN do something now.” 

“But, what would happen if we didn’t enter the mountain?” Ori questioned quietly, his eyes betraying his trepidation.

“Then you would sentence those children to death,” Bard remarked, “Would you condemn the innocent?”

A heavy silence fell over the dwarves as they gazed at the floor. A heavy, invisible weight seemed to settle on each of their shoulders

This quest had taken a rather dark turn and more was at stake than just their lives. 

“What are we to do then?” Lyla whispered, her eyes wide with trepidation, her heart pounding, stomach twisted into knots, “How are we to go about this whole…mess? We have to get them out…we can’t.” She sighed, trying to control her rolling emotions, “We can’t let harm come to those people. They are innocent. We-we just can’t!”

“That is why,” Gandalf remarked, a small smile on his face as he gazed fondly at the little hobbit, still bundled in Thorin’s coat sitting near the fire, “Legolas is here.”

“And,” Bard remarked, stepping forward, retrieving an item from his coat, “Why I have this.”

Resting in his hands was a thin, black arrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously reviews are welcome and appreciated. I'd love to hear from you.
> 
> And here's a great story to take a peek at: Luckyhai5's "Good Morning"  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	43. Disparaging Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla muses
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/GXbHK3OClvE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry that it's taken longer than normal to update! I had a nice lovely chapter almost done for you to read and my blasted computer erased the whole thing. 
> 
> Believe me there were many horrified faces and a lot of frustrated cries of annoyance and anguish coming from me.
> 
> But there was literally nothing I could do. It was gone. Completely gone. 
> 
> And so I was back at square one. 
> 
> But, I've got a little bit of a treat for you. It's a small sort of segway chapter for you to enjoy while I finish up the next little installments...for the second time. 
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy this little chapter and be on the lookout for another update sometime tonight or tomorrow. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get two chapters finished again...

Lyla sat, knees tucked to her chest with her hand resting under her chin as she stared out the window of her temporary bedroom. The light snow had turned into bitterly cold rain that pelted the window, obscuring her view of the muted houses and pitter pattered overhead like the gentle thrum of a drum. 

Normally she’d find this calming. She used to sit like this as a little girl. She loved watching the rain fall from her own windows at home and marveled at the delightful scents that the rain always brought.

But today, the rain did nothing to ease her worries. 

Lyla had begged to go upstairs after their longwinded strategy planning, which, frankly, left her head spinning.

She’d even foregone dinner, much to the surprise of many of the company members. They’d started to protest her request for solitude, until Bofur got a good look at her face.  
He must have seen something akin to utter confusion and wearied panic in her eyes and the desperate need to be alone. 

“Aye lass,” he had pulled Lyla into a tight, but brief hug, touching their foreheads together gently, before nudging her towards the staircase. “Of ye go. But we’ll be here if ye be needin’ anything.” 

Lyla sighed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, sifting through the thoughts racing about in her head, trying to stop herself from sinking into a pool of despair that threatened to consume her.

The plan they’d devised was much the same as the original. At least for Lyla anyway. She would, as was always agreed, figure out some way to thwart Smaug and restore Thorin’s place back under The Lonely Mountain. 

Of course that type of mission appeared nearly impossible to begin with. Lyla had no idea how to tackle a dragon. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what she’d be facing in a few day’s time. 

Her elevated stress since leaving the Shire was to be expected. She was facing down a fire-breathing creature that could incinerate her (as Bofur had kindly put it). But she’d still signed that contract. She’d agreed to this foolhardy quest. She’d promised her services to aid a gaggle of dwarves. 

She knew the consequences. 

But now? 

Fear niggled at her brain, doubt casting a long shadow over her thoughts as she stared out the window at the pattering rain and the growing darkness.  
Now things were far more complicated. 

Her role in this quest meant so much more than ever before. 

And in that moment, Lyla never felt more exceptionally ordinary, inadequate and insignificant in her life.

There were families, men, women, and children, longing to be reunited with each other and to overthrow the wickedness permeating Laketown. They were relying on her to succeed.

They had to deal with The Master's sinister machinations.

The brute force of an evil race of men aligned with the desires of evil.

And a necromancer (whatever that was really).

Every time she closed her eyes Lyla could still see those little faces, tearstained and dirty, the large eyes, filled with terror gazing back at her, pleading with her to do something.

Sure Legolas had a (brilliant) plan in the works to free the children from The Master and Bard had his arrow, which could pierce through the hardest armor at a blindingly fast speed (or so he said).

But none of that mattered, if Lyla did not perform her duty. 

‘You can’t really expect anything good to come from this mission’ the voice of doubt rang in her ears, making her cringe. ‘It’s a fool’s errand you are on. You’ll never really succeed.’

She wanted to refute these thoughts, cast them aside and brush off the growing unease in her heart. 

But she was finding it rather difficult.

She was just an ordinary hobbit.

She had no special skills. No talents that were useful in these types of situations. Even after all she’d been through: The trolls, Azog, Mirkwood…she shuddered and cast the thoughts aside as soon as they entered her head.

It’d been foolish luck that had preserved her. Perhaps that's why she was feeling so completely unprepared for the road ahead. She'd survived this long on unexpected Tookish luck.

And now, with more at stake than ever before, what could she really do to assist in this mission?

Lyla sighed.

Aule, what had she been thinking when she signed that contract?

Of course she’d never refuse to complete her task. First and foremost, she was a Baggins and Bagginses did NOT go back on their word. But more important to her than that was the fact that she couldn’t leave those children and the dwarves to suffer when she could at least TRY to help. She’d made a promise. 

A promise that she intended to keep.

But she half wondered if perhaps Gandalf had been wrong in his recommendation of this little hobbit lass.

“Such disparaging thoughts are hardly worth your time Lyla Baggins.”

Lyla’s head jerked upwards in surprise and she turned to see Gandalf’s tall silhouette standing in her doorway. He leaned heavily on his staff, his eyes half closed as he watched her, his brows furrowed and assessing. 

And in his hands he held a small, steaming cup of tea. 

Lyla stared at the wizard in astonishment (though really she shouldn’t have been so surprised) and wondered how he could guess her thoughts to accurately. 

With a small smile, Gandalf eased his way into her room and handed her the cup of tea as he lowered himself tiredly into the chair closest to her bed. "It would also appear that your companions are a bit concerned for your well being. And even if you hide away from their concerned gazes, they're quite determined to see to your health” he remarked, his eyes shifting between watching her face and gazing at the warm cup in her hands. 

“Ah.” Lyla replied knowingly, setting the cup of tea aside. No doubt Oin had put a draught in the cup to ease her into sleep. A flicker of warmth wound its way around her heart at the thought of the dwarves for showing such a fierce loyalty to one who was not even a member of their race. 

Sometimes she still couldn't fathom why they cared about her, even as she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. Something she hadn't felt in a long time.

“You know,” Gandalf remarked with a false cheerfulness as he set his staff aside and leaned forward to gaze at the small hobbit sitting on the bed, “I’ve come to find that hobbits are most remarkable creatures, though they themselves don’t seem to agree.” 

At the curious look she gave him, Gandalf only smiled wider,“I can see your thoughts written on your face, my dear,” He answered lightly.  
Lyla snorted derisively at his comment. 

“Hobbits most certainly are NOT all that remarkable Gandalf. Particularly the Bagginses. You’d met my father. And you’ve certainly been to The Shire. You know how hobbits think and feel. Especially about adventures.”

Even as she tried to remain lighthearted, the crushing weight of doubt pressed upon her as her mind clung to the truthfulness of the statement.  
She most certainly was not remarkable.

However, a small, genuine smile worked its way onto Gandalf’s face. “And yet, here you sit. It would seem to me that you don’t follow the standards of an ordinary hobbit.”

Lyla sighed but returned the smile half-heartedly. “I’ll have you know, that before you came along, this Baggins was entirely respectable, thank you. Before you came along I was very well thought of.”

“Indeed?” Gandalf quirked an eyebrow at her.

Lyla nodded her head emphatically, “Yes, indeed. I never had any adventures or did anything unexpected.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Indeed not. Though, I seem to remember a young hobbit who would have loved nothing more than to learn what was beyond the borders of the Shire. A young hobbit was always off in search of elves in the woods, and who would come home after dark trailing mud and twigs and fireflies.” He leaned back and his smile broadened, “I appears to me that you are far more Took than you are Baggins.”

“And what good has that done me?” She muttered, casting her eyes to the floor. “I’m stubborn to be sure and foolhardy for coming on this adventure, but Took blood doesn’t give me any special talent to help on this quest.” Lyla sighed, “I don’t know what I was thinking honestly. Perhaps I should have never run out my door Gandalf.” She pulled her eyes upward and met the wizened face with a look of frustrated worry. She didn’t want him to know her doubts and fears. “I’m so afraid that I’ll let them down. That it was a mistake to even consider me for this quest. And I couldn’t bear it if-if someone suffered because of my failure.” She sighed, “Perhaps you’ve picked the wrong hobbit.”

“Indeed I do not believe that,” Gandalf remarked, his voice firm, eyes flashing. “Did you know that your Great-great-great-great Uncle Bullroarer Took was so large that he could ride a real horse?”

“Yes.” 

“Well he could! At the battle of Greenfields, he charged the goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard that it knocked the goblin king’s head clean off and it sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole.”

“But I don’t see what this has to do with me Gandalf,” Lyla remarked.

The Grey Wizard only chuckled, “The same spirit and courage that coursed through his blood also flows in you. You have a lot more to offer than even you know. There’s a great deal more to you than meets the eye and that, my dear hobbit, gives us a distinct advantage.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a warrior or…or someone who KNEW how to contend against a dragon?”

“Are you saying that you do not wish to fulfill the contract?” Gandalf’s eyes flashed with surprise as he gazed at Lyla.

“No!” She remarked a blush covering her cheeks as guilt coursed through her for having giving Gandalf that thought, “No that’s not it at all. I just…” Lyla sighed again, “I just I don’t want to let anyone down. I couldn’t bear it. There are so many people counting on me and what have I got to recommend myself for this task?”

Lyla ruffled her curls in frustration, trying to press the terror that threatened to consume her aside. Where was this doubt coming from? After dealing with a hard-headed dwarf king whose words tore at her and demeaned her abilities, stumbling her way through escaping from trolls, wargs, orcs, spiders and even an Elven kingdom, she had still stood firm in her belief that she was the right person for this quest. 

And now, when the dwarves (ALL the dwarves) were showing her the love and companionship she’d not known since she was a faunt, now she was feeling doubt, feeling inferior. 

Why?

“You know,” The Grey Wizard remarked thoughtfully, “There are some who would say that it is only great power that can hold evil in check.” He smiled at Lyla, “But that is not what I have found. I’ve found it is the small things…everyday deeds of ordinary folk…that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love.”

“Why?” Lyla ventured hesitantly, “Why me?”

“Why you Lyla Baggins?” Gandalf smiled, “Perhaps it is because I am afraid…and you give me courage. Do not let the fear of the unknown rule your heart, Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf admonished, his tone kind, “It is a tool of the adversary. Trust yourself. You do not need the skills of another to complete this quest. You have your wits. You’ll do quite well. Believe me.”

He reached over and patted Lyla on the head before rising.

“And I suggest you drink that tea before you have a swarm of dwarves after you.”

He sent a wink her way and produced a biscuit from the some hidden pocket in his cloak, setting the flaky morsel down near her saucer. 

Lyla gave a small smile and lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling the rich aroma with the subtle, bitter undercurrent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you think? I'd love to hear from you. And the pace will be picking up again in the coming chapters so be prepared for that. We're heading to Erebor...
> 
> And if you'd like to read another fem!bilbo, take a peek at Luckyhai5's 'Good Morning' it's splendid  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	44. Givashel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla's worth.
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> (this song actually plays relevance for the coming chapters as well. It's so good.)   
> http://youtu.be/spBU4mpJA1c
> 
> http://youtu.be/MeW0Sl0tNS8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Here's another chapter for you to enjoy! :) Thanks for such amazing support. You guys are awesome. I hope you like this chapter.

Lyla slowly sipped her tea, marveling at the small tendrils of warmth that spread through her body, filling her chest and moving towards her fingers and toes. 

She hadn’t realized how cold she felt until the warmth from the tea started to spread outward, making her feel a fuzzy contentedness that started to ebb at the darkened fear that held a firm grip her emotions.

Soon her eyes were drooping, the muffled hums of Gandalf’s rich voice fading into the background as she slowly sank down among the pillows, marveling at their soft, inviting presence.

She half wondered if they gave her too much draught again like in Rivendell, as she slowly slipped into a peaceful oblivion. 

*****

Gandalf watched Lyla’s rather rapid descent into slumber with a mixture of amusement and worry. His hums diminished as he noted the heavy shadows under her eyes and her gaunt expression. 

She wasn’t getting enough sleep. And he supposed, logically, that it was due to nightmares.

It made sense of course. The hobbit had been through quite a lot. 

A lot more than he had ever anticipated when he’d recommended the little Shireling for this adventure. 

The Grey Wizard sighed and watched the soft rise and fall of blonde lump curled under the blankets, a fond smile on his lips as he recalled another young hobbit lass who ran off on an adventure with the tall Grey-clad Wizard. 

Yes, Belladonna Took’s daughter was just like her mother. 

He could see the bright, cheerful adventurous sparkle in Lyla’s eye, even though it had been dimmed by some unfortunate events of late. He also noticed the resolute nature of her decision to go through with the rest of this quest. She was determined to see it through. And while he knew that the Baggins side of her wanted to do this to keep a promise (something Bagginses were notorious for), Gandalf also suspected that her Tookish nature wanted to complete this mission just to know she could be brave and do the right thing, even in the face of insurmountable odds. 

But, that wild Tookish streak was tempered with a calm, witty, resourcefulness that the Baggins family inherited in abundance. What Lyla lacked in weapons skills or sheer strength, she certainly made up for in quick thinking. Of course, the Tooks were no slouches when it came to intelligence, but the Baggins family held a certain refined method of planning and logic that Lyla seemed to grasp onto, even when the plans themselves were more Tookish by nature. 

Gandalf shook his head in wonder at the small, seemingly ordinary little creature who was anything BUT ordinary. 

What a force this little hobbit was. 

The smile slipped slowly from Gandalf’s face as he peered closer at the sleeping creature. His gaze turned thoughtful, his eyes straining to decipher, his ears listening intently. He could hear a low thrumming coming from the Hobbit’s form. Gandalf narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, closer to Lyla. Something was…  
Odd 

It almost appeared, to the wizard’s eyes as if thing black tendrils were slowly circling around Lyla’s left hand, thing threads of blackness, slowly inching their way up the hobbit’s arm.

But when Gandalf blinked, it was gone.

And then a soft knock sounded at the door. 

Gandalf quickly catalogued the information away.

He’d think on these things when more pressing matters were taken care of. 

He turned to see Ori, Bifur and Bofur standing quietly in the doorway, their questioning, worried gazes, giving Gandalf a pleasant reminder that the hobbit was well cared for. 

He smiled and nodded his head, gesturing for the trio to come into the room.

*****

The silence downstairs was palpable as Thorin stewed by the fire. 

The other dwarves (barring the three who’d gone upstairs to fetch Gandalf and check on the little hobbit) milled around the large room, quietly conversing with one another and sorting through the minimal supplies they had in their possession. 

But there was none of the usual raucous laughter or light hearted banter that had become a trademark amongst the company. Everyone seemed to feel the weight of the situation. 

And Thorin was having a difficult time keeping his emotions in check. 

The new plans and knowledge he’d gained in the last few hours swirled through his mind like angry hornets, attacking every thought and feeling he had.

It was no longer just about recovering their home. 

It was about protecting those who could not protect themselves.

Children. 

By Mahal, The Master was using children as pawns to further his vain desires.

Children!

A fierce hatred burned through Thorin’s blood when Lyla had revealed that information. And it made sense that she agreed so quickly to meet The Master’s demands.   
He might have done the same thing, had he been in that situation.

Thorin turned towards the staircase and noted that Gandalf was returning downstairs, Bofur, Bifur and Ori trailing behind him slowly, trying to remain as silent as possible. 

Lyla was still upstairs.

A low growl escaped his lips as he thought of how The Master had kidnapped and manipulated Lyla, twisting her good nature to suit his purposes. He had seen the potential the first time he laid on eyes on the hobbit, Thorin wasn’t stupid. She radiated a gentle compassion, even he could see that. 

That’s why Thorin had been trying to keep her here. She was far safer here than anywhere else in town.

Only, that stubborn little hobbit didn’t realize that until AFTER she’d been captured.

The foolish little…

“She’s resting now, Thorin Oakenshield, so you can stop scowling at the staircase if you please.” Gandalf murmured coming to sit across from the dwarf king, a soft smile playing on his lips. “She quite alright, I can assure you.”

Thorin turned his scowl towards the nosy wizard but said nothing.

His eyes darted to the staircase again and he felt his leg twitch. 

Balin’s low chuckle reached his ears.

“You were starin’ again Laddie,” He remarked with a clear joviality in his voice.

Thorin turned his gaze away from the staircase to frown at Balin (and consequently, every other dwarf in the room within in earshot of the comment)

He was not staring. 

That was absurd.

“I was just thinking,” he muttered, his voice low.

And it was true. He had only been thinking. 

Thinking about those frightened hazel eyes, wide and endlessly captivating. The words tumbling from the hobbit’s lips that something terrible, truly terrible had forced her to make such a deal with The Master.

“She shouldn’t have been placed in this situation,” he ground out, shooting an angry, though sympathetic look towards Bard, “She should never have become a pawn like this.”

“Yes, I agree,” Gandalf remarked, his voice holding a bitter edge, “But evil strikes at what they find to be a convenient advantage.”

Thorin bristled at that comment, “She’s more than just an advantage for the enemy wizard,”

And Gandalf smirked at the flustered dwarf before him.

“I never suggested otherwise. What I was going to say, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf’s smile grew, his eyes twinkling, “Was that the enemy has clearly underestimated our hobbit.”

Oh.

Well. 

Yes.

“That’s true,” he conceded, averting his eyes from the wizard’s face. 

And Balin’s face too. 

“So you mean to tell me that the hobbit is truly going to confront the dragon?” Bard sounded incredulous as he gazed around the room in wonder, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I knew that you were all fond of her. That’s why I suspected The Master’s intentions to use her as leverage. But, I never thought…so the plan, her part…?” he trailed off.  
He gazed over at Legolas. Curious brown eyes met calm blue ones. And then Legolas nodded.

“She’s really the only one who can do this, I’m afraid,” The elf remarked with a light sigh.

And Thorin bristled again..

But this time he wasn’t the only one.

“Oi, that hobbit is more than qualified to contend against the dragon!” Bofur exclaimed, his normally cheerful demeanor replaced with a granite stare.

“Do you doubt the hobbit’s abilities?” Thundered Dwalin, his face contorted into an angry scowl.

“If I recall correctly,” Thorin snorted, leveling his gaze at Legolas, “That hobbit saved your father’s life, did she not?”

Legolas let out a small smile, “Twice in fact. And my own as well. And you mistook my meaning.” Legolas eyed the dwarves carefully, “Though it pleases me that you are all so protective of the small creature.”

Legolas turned back towards Bard, who still wore a confused and suspicious expression on his face.

“What I mean, Bard of Laketown,” Legolas remarked, smiling at the bowman, “Is that despite the dangers that we’re placing her in, though I would prefer not to, Lyla Baggins is the only one who can complete that part of the task.”

“I don’t understand,” Bard confessed, his eyes wary of the dwarves around him, “Surely you won’t send her in there alone. Why can we not send someone else?”

“You must trust me on this,” Gandalf stated lowly, his eyes staring down the bowman, “Hobbits are incredibly light on their feet,” Gandalf interjected, gazing at the bowman who stood in the far corner of the room. “In fact they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is most certainly accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him.”

“And before it gets any later,” Gandalf remarked cutting off Bard’s protest, “Let us finish our preparations. Legolas and myself must be gone before first light if we are to be successful.”

*****

Thorin sat in the chair nearest to Lyla’s bed and watched with rapt fascination as the hobbit slept, her breathing slow and steady, the gentle rise and fall of her chest bringing him a sense of relief and comfort. 

He and Dwalin had retreated up here while the rest of the company got what little rest they could before they were summoned in the morning to head towards The Lonely Mountain.

Thorin knew that he would get no rest this night. His mind was too caught up in plans and anticipation for the journey ahead.

And worry. 

Worry for the citizens of Laketown (the children specifically)

But also worry for a little hobbit who seemed to carry the weight of this quest on her shoulders, and hers alone. 

His eyes swept over the golden curls that had grown longer since the start of their journey, and noted with a pleased eye how they gently framed the delicate face of the sleeping hobbit. He took careful consideration of the flushed cheeks and silently thanked Oin’s foresight to give her a draught. His gaze caught hold of the dark circles bruising the fair skin beneath the hobbit’s eyes and he inwardly cringed at the amount of sleep she must have lost to acquire such prominent markings. 

And then Lyla sighed, her lips puckering and parting as she turned inward, burrowing deeper into the covers of the blanket, nestling her cheek against the soft fabric. But then her brow furrowed and a frown worked its way on her face.

Thorin watched the hobbit wrinkle her nose and clench her fists as small unintelligible murmurs escaped her lips. Without a second thought, he leaned forward and gently grasped Lyla’s small hand in his own, rubbing small circles across her wrist and the back of her hand. 

Thorin’s eyes were riveted on the hobbit and he forgot that Dwalin was in the room with him for a moment.  
Until the warrior dwarf started to chuckle startling the dwarf king.

Thorin gazed at his closest friend a little embarrassed (though he steeled his expression into a stoic mask) as he pulled away from Lyla, who had stilled again, her features smoothing into a contented peace that deep sleep usually provided.

“Aye she’s a fair one to be sure,” Dwalin remarked quietly, a small, fond smile on his face as he cast a look at the sleeping creature.

He rubbed a cloth carefully over the small sheath of Lyla’s sword, removing the mud and debris coating the delicate leather. 

Then his gaze hardened as he turned his attention towards the dwarf king. “And if ye hurt her, I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”

Thorin eyed Dwalin carefully.

Of course he’d never hurt her.

The thought was absurd. He’d made amends for his wrongdoings. He knew, now, just how foolish he’d been.

He cared about her.

“I’ll not make that mistake again,” Thorin murmured in reply, “She is a member of this company. She deserves to be protected.”

But the words felt wrong in his mouth as he spoke. 

She was more than that. She was more than just a member of the company.

She meant more than that.

His gaze drifted back towards the sleeping hobbit and a soft smile graced his lips as he sat, content to watch the hobbit sleep peacefully.

“Givashel,” he murmured absently, brushing away one of Lyla’s wayward golden locks from her forehead.

Yes. 

That sounded better.

That was a fitting name for someone so remarkable. 

Yes. He liked that name very much for her. 

But he didn’t notice the way that Dwalin’s brows rose in surprise even as a smirk rose to the warrior’s lips.

*****

The Master of Laketown sat near the window of his bedchamber, fiddling with a small rolled piece of parchment, a sinister smirk played on his lips as he waited.

Waited for the news he was certain would reach his ears.

A loud pounding on his door brought a brighter smile to his face as he set the rolled parchment gingerly down on his desk.

“Enter.”

A rather stout guard marched into the large, warm room, his face mottled and pocked with the marks of sickness, hair scraggly and patchy at best.

A rotten toothy grin was spread across his face.

“We’ve found it m’lord.” He hissed lowly, nodding towards The Master.

The Master clapped his hands together delightedly and rose slowly to his feet. “Splendid! Where?” 

“About a league up the river.”

The Master chuckled, “Perfect! Simply perfect.”

All the pieces were falling into place. 

Yes. His plan was coming together nicely.

Very nicely.

Then he put his fingers to his lips and whistled.

A rather large black bird entered through the window and perched on the back of The Master’s chair waiting patiently.

The leader of Laketown gathered his rolled parchment and carefully attached the missive to the leg of the large black crow, paying careful attention to tying the knots securely.   
He didn’t want this letter to go astray.

Satisfied with his work, he gave the large black bird a small pat on its head.

“Now, go back to your master. Inform him of the delightful news I have enclosed in this letter.”

With a low ‘caw’ the bird hopped around and retreated back out the window, its large black wings flapping silently through the darkened skies. 

The Master stood, hands behind his back as he grinned staring at the town below him.

Yes. Things were coming along perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I'd love to hear from you! It's always fun to get feedback and I'm a sucker for it. 
> 
> And take a gander at this fem!bilbo AU by Luckyhai5. 
> 
> 'Good Morning'- http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	45. Row Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading towards Erebor. 
> 
> Music:   
> http://youtu.be/1UxXm8hwfso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not posting this chapter sooner. My internet and computer have been dodgy lately...but I appreciate the support for the last chapter! You guys are amazing. And I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. 
> 
> I'm unable to go to bed, as I would wish, so I'm actually working on the next chapter as well. Maybe you'll get that one soon as well...keep your fingers crossed.

“When will you return?” Bard’s low voice prickled through the still air like the quiet crackle of a log consumed by flame. He stood near the door and stared at Gandalf and Legolas expectantly, the grip on his bow tight, his knuckles white from the strain.

He was, understandably worried.

The sun was just starting to lighten the sky—soft shades of pink and peach beginning to peek over the horizon—and the elf and wizard were making their quiet escape before they were noticed by the guards who were undoubtedly on their way to rouse the sleeping company of dwarves. 

“Three days. At most.” Gandalf remarked, “It will take at least a day for the company to get up to the doorway and Durin’s Day is not yet upon us for a few more days. They’ll have to wait until the last light casts its shadow over the keyhole. Then, and only then, will the door be opened.”

‘And they will unleash the beast’ Bard thought morosely, anxiety swirling in his head, ‘It could destroy us all.’ 

Gandalf placed a warm hand on the bowman’s shoulder, a soft smile on his face, “Do not fear. There is yet still time.”

Bard gave a quick nod to the grey wizard. There was still time, it was true, and even though he’d rather leave the dragon well enough alone, he knew with The Master’s insistence on the matter, they didn’t have much choice anymore. 

The hobbit would have to fulfill her task.

And he would have to fulfill his, especially should the dragon descend upon Laketown.

Bard then turned his attention to the golden-haired elf. “You’ll take care of him? Don’t let any hardship befall my son.”

Legolas mimicked Gandalf’s movements and placed a comforting hand on Bard’s shoulder. 

“He will be quite safe,” the elf remarked. “They all will.”

Bard gave Legolas a stern, leveled look, “I will hold you to your word, then,” his voice was hard, firm. 

Legolas bowed his head gently towards the bowman, “Let it be an oath then,” He murmured gently, his blue eyes conveying the truth behind his words as he slipped through the door, behind Gandalf. 

Bard was left standing, staring at the dark grey wood, memorizing each indentation, each divot, crack and imperfection of the doorframe, and listening to the low murmur of conversation in the other room.

“Let it be an oath then,” he whispered.

*****  
“Mistress Boggins!” 

Lyla groaned lowly as her eyes fluttered. Her head felt heavy, like a lead weights were attached to her ears, pulling her back towards the darkened oblivion of silence. 

“Mistress Boggins!” Kili hissed again “You have to get up. The Master’s coming.”

Lyla’s eyes flew open at that statement and she gazed up, drowsily, into the large brown eyes of the youngest Durin. 

His gazed was worried, his face pulled into a frown. 

“Durin’s beard, how much draught did they give you?” he questioned warily, tugging on the hobbit’s arms until she was in a sitting position.

Lyla blinked a few times to try and clear her head, but it felt so dull and compacted together. 

It felt heavy.

And she didn’t feel at all rested. 

True she didn’t dream (something she WAS grateful for), but she didn’t really get a true sleep.

She had just been pulled under the effects of a concoction meant to induce sleep, and a heavy sleep at that.

Though…a thought niggled at her brain.

She could have sworn that something soft had brushed against her cheek and forehead while she slept…

“We’ll have to blame uncle for that one,” Fili interjected, pulling the covers off of Lyla’s still unmoving form. He cast the hobbit an apologetic look, “I’m sorry you can’t sleep longer, Mahal knows you need it, but we have to get ready.”

“I-“ she yawned, surprising herself, “I understand.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hopped to her feet, nearly toppling as her balance worked to catch up with her movements. 

Both brothers steadied her with light chuckles.

And then a loud banging noise sounded from downstairs and the trio stiffened for a moment, their eyes darting between one another.

Kili bolted for the door, tugging Lyla’s arm, forcing her to stumble after him down the stairs, with Fili hot on her heels. 

The sight that greeted them downstairs made Lyla’s stomach coil in dread. 

“Ah! The sleeping beauty has awoken I see!” The Master’s greasy voice slithered over her ears, as the man himself stood in the doorway of the small house, his round figure decorated in bright yellow and oranges. 

He gave Lyla a large toothy grin.

She cringed and Kili came to stand in front of her, blocking The Master’s view.

“Best to leave this one alone,” Fili remarked, pushing Lyla gently behind him as well so that the brothers acted as a barrier. His voice was dangerously low, “You’ve already made enemies of this company by kidnapping her once. Don’t think that we’ll take kindly to any further harassment.”

A low murmur rose amongst the dwarves. 

Lyla felt a light pressure on her shoulder and turned her face upwards to see Thorin standing near her, his face frozen into a scowl.

“What business might you have here then?” he ground out, the low timbre of his voice gruff with disapproval as he addressedd The Master.

The Master just laughed his chin wobbling with each movement is mouth made. “My, what fierce companions you have here little Halfling! No wonder they were so quick to agree to my demands. Indeed I chose wisely did I not?” 

Lyla peeked through the gap between Fili and Kili’s shoulders and noted The Master’s face peering back at her, his beady eyes locked onto her face. 

She tensed and averted her gaze her hand clenching into a small fist at her side. 

The Master chuckled again, his voice echoing through the silent room.

“Well, as to my ‘business’ here, if you will,” The Master remarked taking a step forward, “I’ve come to collect you lovely creatures and send you on your way. We have provisions and your weapons waiting for you in the boats along the outer docks. If you’ll but follow me then.”

The Master stopped for a moment and let his smile widen, “Oh but I’m forgetting something!” He chortled lowly, “Miss…Baggins, was it?” He turned his head to peer around Fili and   
Kili at the small hobbit who stood cocooned by dwarves. She didn’t miss the way his eyebrow quirked at Thorin’s grip on her shoulder.

He smirked at her.

“Yes, Miss Baggins, if you’ll kindly follow me, I’ve got something rather…special to show you.

Thorin’s grip tightened on Lyla’s Shoulder and he yanked her backwards as the rest of the Dwarves surged around, standing in a firm line against The Master.

“Ye’ll not be touchin’ her” Dwalin snarled stepping forward, brandishing Lyla’s sword as he did so.

The Master’s guards sprang to attention and thrust their weapons towards Dwalin, forcing the dwarf to stop his advancement or be impaled by spears and swords.  
The Master only chuckled again.

“Brilliant,” He remarked regarding Lyla again, “Simply marvelous, really. How you managed to secure the loyalty of so many, little hobbit, is a truly remarkable thing. And! And you managed to hide a weapon from me.” The man smiled, his greasy face contorted into a sickeningly pleased face. 

“My, my, I must learn your secrets!” he appraised clapping his hands together in approval, “And one day I believe I shall! But come little darling, let’s not make this harder than it needs to be shall we? Are you not fond of your dwarf here, even if he has got a dagger to defend himself with?”

Lyla bristled and narrowed her eyes, trying to pull herself from Thorin’s grip, though it was a difficult process. 

“Yes, alright,” she remarked finally stepping forward, pushing her way through the dwarves who were glowering at The Master and his guard. 

Lyla stepped forward and met the sickeningly pleasant gaze of the leader of Laketown. 

The man who would kill without a second thought. 

The hobbit squared her shoulders and stepped closer, pushing her doubts from the previous evening deep down inside of her.

“Lead on.” 

“Excellent,” The Master remarked and with a nod of his head, the guards lowered their weapons and stepped back.

The Master grabbed onto Lyla’s thin wrist and tugged her through the doorway.

The dwarves weren’t far behind, their indignant cries bouncing around the hobbit’s head.

*****  
Lyla was seething.

Absolutely seething.

Even as her heart was breaking. 

Standing before her and the rest of the company were five tiny figures, dressed in dirty raggedy clothing, their ankles shackled together as they held provisions in their grasp, with more pooling at their feet. 

Wide, frightened eyes gazed back at the hobbit and the company of dwarves. 

Lyla noted the thin cheekbones, the vacant despondency that these little children exuded.

And her fury burned brighter. 

She sent a withering glare up at The Master and kicking the man in the shin.

“Ah I see you’re rather delighted with this sight,” he retorted cheekily without so much as a flinch of acknowledgment, “Yes, indeed, these little…helpers have collected everything you’ll be needing for your journey. You know,” His eyes flashed amusedly, “The townsfolk were most willing to assist in providing the necessary material for your endeavors.”

Lyla gaped at the man before her, disgusted by his behavior as she yanked her hand from his grasp.

Or tried to at least.

The Master’s thick, sweaty hands tightened around her wrist painfully, making Lyla wince.

That was enough to send the dwarves into an uproar.

“Let go of her!” Dori and Ori demanded stepping forward.

They were met with spear tips pointed at their throats. 

Thorin and Balin tried to step forward as well, only to be met with a terrifying sight.

Not only were enough guards surrounding the dwarves, but enough were also standing by the five little shivering children shackled together.

These guards had their swords out and at the ready. 

Lyla’s breath caught in her throat.

“Stop!” she hissed trying to pull away, her eyes narrowing at The Master, “Just stop!” 

The round man just laughed again, the timbre of his voice grating on Lyla’s nerves.

“Oh fear not little Halfling,” He admonished patting Lyla on the head again (she shrank away from his touch). “I don’t intend to hurt them…if you comply with my demands that is. Think of these little children as a…reminder of our bargain.”

“As if I could forget it,” she muttered darkly, eyes narrowed, “I’d never forget what I saw.”

“Indeed, I should hope not! Wouldn’t want those little children to suffer now would we?” He pulled Lyla forward again and bent down until his face was inches from her own.

Gone was his disturbingly cheerful smile and in its place as a truly frightening, crazed look. The Master’s eyes flashed with a coldness that left Lyla inwardly shuddering as he bared his teeth at the small hobbit before him. 

“If I recall correctly, an elf was with you when you first arrived,” The Master remarked, “And my guardsmen tell me that this same elf tried to help you escape when we first…acquired your attention.”

The man squeezed Lyla’s wrist tightly, and brought their faces closer together.

“If anything,” He snarled, “Anything at all, should go awry, or if any…surprises… should spring up, do not think I won’t hesitate to kill them. And their deaths shall rest on your head. Remember that.”

Lyla glowered and said nothing.

“Now! Dwarves, to the boats,” The pompous man remarked, his grip on Lyla’s wrist as firm as ever. “Once you’re all safely in your boats and out of dock, then will I release the little hobbit here into another boat.”

Thorin growled, “You will do no such thing!” he snarled, shoving one of the guards out of the way as he charged forward.

Another guard grabbed one of the children by the scruff of his shirt and brought his sword up to the small struggling child’s throat. 

Just as The Master brought forth a dagger of his own and placed the blade delicately against Lyla’s own throat.

She stilled instantly, her eyes going wide.

She hadn’t expected that.

But she really should have. 

“I suggest,” The Master’s voice dripped with disdain, “that you do as I say, lest you lose a member of your company.” And then The Master scoffed, “And even if you were to succeed in besting these men here, I have many more stationed throughout the town, waiting for any sort of disturbance to carry out my orders. Remember…those little children are still under my control. Do not think I won’t use that advantage.” 

Thorin’s eyes were blazing with fury as he gazed between Lyla, The Master and the young boy being held captive by one of the guards. Lyla was silently pleading with the dwarf king to relent. She was certain that the horrid man would live up to his threats if provoked long enough. 

And, without his weapons, Thorin did not have the upper hand in this battle.

‘Please’ she silently whispered, ‘Just go. Into the boat. Please. Don’t let them hurt that boy.’

Thorin’s eyes locked onto Lyla for another moment. He studied her face carefully and then with a sigh, stepped back in submission.

“Good! Very very good!” The Master crooned, never lowering the blade from Lyla’s throat, “Now, all of you into the boat, and be quick about it if you’d please. Daylight is wasting and I’ll not have this mission delayed any more thank you.”

With a nod of his head, he gestured to the boat nearest to the dwarves and one by one they company filed into the boat, but before Bofur could get into the vessel The Master called him to halt.

A guard pushed the hatted dwarf backwards, causing Bofur to snarl in annoyance and Bifur to rise from his seat in the boat.

“If Master Bard will kindly get into the boat and be their guide, I shall send the hobbit, her friend here and the weapons and other supplies along once you are further out in the water,” The Master remarked as another guard shoved Bard forward and into the boat, nearly sending the Bowman sprawling into the water. “You’ll be able to all gather into one boat once you’re a good distance away from shore.”

Thorin and the others growled in contempt but seated themselves as Bard took up the oars.

*****  
“I’m beginning to think,” the bowman remarked as he helped Lyla into the boat while some of the other dwarves scrambled to gather their weapons and the supplies that Bofur and Lyla’s vessel had brought over, “That you do, in fact, attract quite a bit of trouble.”

“Aye that’s true enough, Gloin remarked in agreement earning a few sniggers and a few annoyed snarls from the group crammed together in the boat. “The lass can’t seem to find a safe place to set her feet! Certainly keeps things interesting, aye lass?”

Lyla shot the bowman and the ginger dwarf a glare as she settled near Kili and Nori, wrapping her arms around herself she keep the bitter wind at bay.

“It’s not my fault,” She muttered contemptuously, “None of this ever happened in The Shire. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this until I came on this accursed adventure.”  
She let out a puff of air, running her hand through her knotted curls.

“You know, we have a saying in The Shire. ‘Remember your homeland and never travel East.’”

Bard snorted as he took up his oars again, as the rest of the dwarves settled back, divvying up their weapons while casting glances between Lyla and Bard.  
Kili had wrapped his arms around Lyla’s shoulders to keep her warm.

“Tell me then, master hobbit, WHY did you travel East then?”

Lyla sighed, but smiled softly as she gazed at the bottom of the boat.

“I don’t rightly know,” She finally remarked as she settled against Kili’s side and further down from the wind, “I can certainly see why such advice would be given…” She trailed off and then looked up at the bowman watching her curiously, “With men like The Master roaming about, who would want to travel Eastward? And then her gaze turned thoughtful as a half smiled fondly.

“Though I suppose it’s because I’m not like most other hobbits. And, I have a wizard to blame as well.”

Then the smile slipped slowly from her lips as she cast her eyes back towards shore. She could make out The Master still standing on the dock, his full guard along with him.  
But her eyes were pulled towards the five little figures huddled together, peering out onto the water, watching the company row away. 

She hoped, desperately so, that Legolas and Gandalf would be successful in their mission. 

But for now, she had to stay positive and focused on her own tasks. She had to confront a dragon.

She had to do it for her dwarves and for those children.

She had to.

“We’ll get them to safety,” She whispered, more to herself than anyone else, trying to reassure herself of her abilities.

‘Alright then Lyla, best foot forward. You have children needing you. Counting on you. You can’t let them down.”

She squared her shoulders and hardened her gaze, determination coursing through her veins. 

‘We can do this.’ 

She gave one last fleeting glimpse at the shrinking persons standing on the dock before turning her gaze towards the growing visage of a snowcapped mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts? Feelings? Anyone you want to kill? 
> 
> Share your opinions.
> 
> And enjoy this amazing fic: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's 'Good Morning' http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	46. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three groups prepare
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> http://youtu.be/4qDoRedKBoU  
> http://youtu.be/13iWaaUdyI0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was going to have this chapter posted several hours ago, but I managed to twist my wrist and give myself a good sprain. My dominant hand too...which sucks.
> 
> Sigh...my clumsiness has proved to be my downfall today. Believe me.
> 
> So, it took a bit longer than I anticipated. But, it's done! And it's actually quite a bit longer than I anticipated...4,000+ words.
> 
> Maybe I write too much? 
> 
> I'll let you be the judges of that. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter. Things are getting complicated.

There were a great deal many more guards than Legolas had originally anticipated.

Much to his chagrin. 

He should have been more aware of things. 

But nothing was making any sense of late. 

He’d gotten through town easily enough, his light footsteps making it easy to slip over rooftops unnoticed. 

Gandalf, too, had no trouble navigating the winding walkways, listening to the cues that Legolas would whistle lowly down towards him. 

It was easy to get out of town.

Far too easy. 

But, it was the woodlands, back on dry ground and heading back towards his father’s halls, that left Legolas surprised. 

Men were everywhere, slowly maneuvering through the foliage, searching for something. 

Or someone. 

Of course being an elf, and a woodland elf at that, had its advantages. The woods were his home. He knew how to remain as silent as a rabbit, and well out of sight. 

But the fact that the men were patrolling the woods was rather disconcerting.

He shot a glance towards Gandalf and met with the wizard’s concerned face. 

They needed to hurry to his father. 

*****  
“You are a fool Thranduil,” Gandalf admonished, his eyes narrowed, “You condemn those children to death if you stand idly by and do nothing!”

The sun had not yet reached midday when they’d crested the hill and the elf saw the high walls of the gate surrounding his home. 

Legolas had been relieved to see Tauriel with Bard’s young son Bain when he returned to the halls.

He had enlisted her help when he’d first snuck back into the halls, after the hobbit had taken ill and he suspected something foul permeating the town of men. 

And Tauriel had watched over the whole proceedings down in Laketown and made sure that Bain had escaped from any on-looking guards. She’d warned him of the other guards and, thus, prevented the elf from being captured as well. 

Legolas was grateful to Tauriel’s Loyalty to the cause against evil. Because of her willingness to assist him, an innocent boy was well protected.  
However… 

He hadn’t been relieved to see his father standing behind them, a thoughtful frown on his face as his son made his way back towards home.

“What care I for the men of Laketown?” Thranduil hissed, glaring at Gandalf, “I have my own battles to fight here. If evil has spread to Laketown, it is none of my concern. “  


Gandalf scoffed, “It IS your concern if the enemy should overthrow all your allies, leaving you more weakened than you already are.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed and stepped down from his dias, “Do not think that I do not know that the dwarves reside there. I know the people of Laketown have aided those who, by right, deserve to be locked in my halls.”

Thranduil’s piercing blue eyes for his son’s and he glowered at the young elf who stood near the grey wizard.

“And you aided them. You aided their escape!” he accused a frown marring the elf king’s perfect features, “I did not know that my own son preferred to be a wizard’s pupil instead of honor bound to obeying his father and king.”

Legolas’ eyes widened and then narrowed. 

His father was still influenced by the tainted spirit pervading the forest. 

Even after all that had transpired?

“If you recall correctly, father, the dwarves had already escaped before I was involved with anything. I only helped the hobbit.”

Thranduil’s eye twitched ever so slightly at that statement.

“Ah yes, the hobbit…” the elf king trailed off, “Tell me, why you did assist when I requested you detain the creature?”

“You remember the counsel we were given shortly before the dwarves arrived. She needed to be protected.”

Thranduil scoffed, but his fury had dimmed somewhat.

Instead it was replaced by a curiosity that seeped into his gaze.

“She?” he questioned.

“Yes.” Legolas remarked slowly, still wary of his father’s reactions, “She. Lyla Baggins of the Shire. And SHE needs our help.”

Thranduil’s gaze hardened again, “Why should I help her? I did not believe Galadriel’s words when she spoke them, why would I trust them now?” He frowned, “And, it would seem that the hobbit is lacking in some wit to embroil herself into the quests of others.”

“She had no choice in this matter, Ada,” Legolas murmured heatedly, his eyes fixed on his father.

The father he didn’t know or understand.

“She’s being manipulated,” Bain cut in, much to the elves’ surprise. Legolas regarded the young boy with his curly mop of brown hair and thin cheeks with curiosity and interest, admiring his bravery. 

“She was kidnapped and then forced to meet with The Master, just like my father.” The young boy swallowed and cringed, “They tricked him and they took her away. I know they brought them down into the cave where the children are.” 

“She could have said no, young one,” Thranduil admonished, eyes bright and flashing with indignation, “She could have merely stayed home in the West and never had to deal with all this. She brings trouble with her.”

“Now that is quite enough of that!” Gandalf thundered, stepping in front of Legolas, “It was I who suggested the hobbit for this mission to reclaim The Lonely Mountain. I am the one who set the dwarves on their way. And I still maintain the goodness of this quest.” 

Legolas watched with rapt attention as the grey wizard stepped forth, his presence growing in power as he stared down the king.

“And could you, oh great king, have disregarded the plight of the innocent when faced with their terror as she was?”

Thranduil glowered at the wizard but said nothing. 

Though his silence said enough. 

Gandalf nodded his head thoughtfully, his presence shrinking back, though the air still crackled around him like lightning, “Do not condemn a lone hobbit for her pity and compassion. For, it might be the compassion of Lyla Baggins that controls all our fates.”

“Ada,” Legolas whispered, stepping forth once more, “The evil of Mirkwood is spreading, it’s black, decaying fingers slowly seeping throughout the land. Do we sit idly by and let others fall? We’ve lived peaceably with the men of Laketown, trading freely with them. Can we not fight?”

“Yes,” Thranduil conceded, “Yes, we have. And we can. But, what do I owe Thorin Oakenshield and his little hobbit companion?”

He sent a glare at Gandalf.

“That dwarf seeks out the wrath of a dragon. Why should I aid in THEIR quest?”

“Because, both quests have now intertwined. Their success will determine the success of Laketown.” Gandalf remarked, “The Master is the puppet of a larger force that would use the dragon against the free peoples of this land, binding them. Lyla Baggins goes, not only to help the dwarves reclaim what is, by right, theirs, but to hopefully dispose of the potential threat that Smaug poses.”

“And remember father,” Legolas smiled slightly, “She saved your life. Twice.”

Thranduil frowned at that comment and narrowed his eyes at his son. 

Clearly this was a sore spot for the elf king to concede.

“And she saved my own,” Legolas continued (unashamed of the hobbit’s actions), watching as his father’s gaze turned to surprise. “Even after all the suffering her company endured while imprisoned here, she still risked her life to save us. She pulled me out of Azog’s reach as we tumbled down the river in that barrel.” Legolas inwardly cringed at that memory and the shock he’d felt as they tumbled down. The utter lack of control and the desperation and panic swimming in two large hazel eyes as water sloshed around. 

“We are indebted to her as much as the dwarves or anyone else.”

Thranduil shook his head, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“A hobbit will shape the fortunes of all,” he murmured, echoing Galadriel’s earlier admonishment to the elves on her return from Rivendell. 

Then Thranduil’s gaze shifted between Gandalf’s and Legolas, a soft, resigned expression coloring his features. 

“Think you that the Lady Galadriel would lead you astray?” Gandalf questioned, his voice soft but commanding as he leaned heavily on his staff, watching Thranduil through hooded eyes, “Think you that she would deceive you in any manner? She saw something and chose to inform you of its coming. Now you must choose if you heed those words.”  
Legolas already knew what path he would choose, regardless of whether his father would travel that path along with him. 

He focused on his father’s face, studying him, and waiting.

And Legolas saw something he had not seen in some time.

His father’s eyes were clear, their depths not clouded by the wickedness overshadowing the woodlands. 

He was thinking clearly. 

He was coming back to himself. 

Finally, Thranduil sighed and folded his arms together, “Very well, then. I shall not stand in your way. Call up the troops and be prepared to march at dawn. We rely on stealth and swiftness for our success.” He turned to Gandalf with a sigh, “And it would appear that I cannot escape your counsel even if I should wish it. So come, Mithrandir, tell me of this plan that we must enact on the morrow.” 

Legolas quickly bowed and retreated, giving a silent prayer of gratitude for the powers that persuaded Thranduil’s return. 

*****

“Come here lass and lemme take a peek at yer arm,” Bofur’s voice cut across the boat, pulling Lyla from her distracted thoughts. 

Thoughts of dragons and fire and darkened tunnels.

“Huh?” she questioned stupidly, “My arm?”

Bofur rose slowly and made his way over to where Lyla was squished between a sleeping Kili and Nori. 

“Aye lass, yer arm,” He crouched in front of Lyla and gently grasped the hobbits wrist, where The Master had grabbed her not once, but twice. 

Barely visible bruises darkened her flesh slightly as small nail prints glared an angry red back at the hatted dwarf. 

Bofur let out a small growl of annoyance but released her arm gently. 

“Aye there’s nothin’ I can really do. But mark my words, if he lays another hand on ye, I’ll not be listenin’ to any pleadings to spare his life.”

Lyla’s eyes were wide at Bofur’s stern face, but she nodded quietly. 

She didn’t have much sympathy for The Master and though she wouldn’t wish death on anyone…

She couldn’t be responsible for the decisions of others. 

Though she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

Bofur’s gaze softened as he gently ruffled her hair and then rubbed her arms, giving them a soft squeeze.

“It’ll be alright lass,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes, guessing the road her thoughts were travelling down, “We’ll get through this, don’t you fret. And you won’t be alone.”  
Lyla gave a small smile in return and nodded her head. 

“Yes,” she whispered, “Yes I know.”

And she did know. She knew that her dwarves would not abandon her (even though they would not be entering the mountain alongside her). 

“Now, try and get some rest, aye?” Bofur remarked quietly, touching his forehead to Lyla’s in an affectionate, brotherly manner. “I imagine we’ve got a ways to go before we reach the shoreline.”

“That’s certainly true,” Bard remarked kindly, as he continued to row, with Dwalin helping him. “It’d be best for you to rest while you can. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”  
Lyla turned to see Bard smiling comfortingly at the hobbit surrounded by dwarves, huddled against the wind and growing cloud cover. 

She nodded her head in appreciation and surprise. 

She didn’t expect the bowman to be genuinely friendly with the hobbit. After all, she had caused this whole issue for him, didn’t she?  
But, she’d accept the thoughtfulness where she could find it. 

Despite the kindness however, and the fatigue she was feeling, her eyes were caught up in surprised, nervous wonder as she gazed around her. She huddled closer to Bofur (who had shoved Nori out of the way to sit next to the hobbit) and stared upwards, her breath visible in the growing cold. 

Long Lake—which earned its name quite spectacularly by its size—gaped wide the further they rowed from Laketown. The shoreline, that she could see, was surrounded by jagged, rolling hills covered with the darkened forms of what she supposed were trees at one time. 

Trees that were undoubtedly burned by dragon fire.

But looming high above these lower lying rocky outcroppings, was a lone, jagged peak stretching towards the sky. A beautiful mist swirled and surrounded the base of the mountain. And capped in a crisp white blanket of snow, this peak stood as a towering edifice of power and prominence. It was breathtaking and ethereal. 

It was quite the site to behold, especially for one who had only known the little rivers and small rolling hills of The Shire. 

“It’s a treasured sight, is it not?” Balin’s voice startled Lyla from her dazed gaping. 

She turned to see the white haired dwarf smiling at her as he too admired the scenery. 

In fact, most of the dwarves were staring upwards, their faces alight in joy and a hushed reverence.

Thorin’s face, in particular, was riveted towards the mountain, his eyes alight in wonder and delight as he stared at his home, his arms folded over his chest, mouth partially opened in an unspoken exclamation of joy at being so close to The Lonely Mountain once more. 

Lyla’s heart stuttered at the sight.

“I’ve lived a long time.” Balin mused, “I’m nothing more than an old warrior now. But I still remember what things used to be like. What Erebor used to be like.”

Lyla’s curiosity had been piqued at that statement and she turned her attention fully towards the elderly dwarf.

“Will you tell me about it?” She whispered, her voice betraying her hopeful curiosity. 

Balin only smiled, “Erebor…where to begin really? It was a kingdom unlike any other. And it is certainly not one that you’ll find in the world today.” Balin sighed, leaning back and getting more comfortable, his eyes gaining that faraway look so prominent in one escaping to their memories. “Erebor was probably the greatest in all of Middle Earth during its heyday. Being the stronghold of Thror, mightiest of the dwarf lords, this fortress city was legend. It’s wealth lay down in the darkened earth, in precious gems and in great seams of gold running like rivers through the stone. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires…all were encased in the rock and the skill of the dwarve was unequaled. Only we could fashion objects with so many precious stones. This made trade within the city of Dale quite prosperous for out people.”

“Dale?” Lyla questioned confused.

Balin’s face sobered rather quickly and the smile ghosted away, replaced by an anguished sorrow that shook Lyla to the core. 

“Yes. Dale,” he remarked quietly, his eye losing their reverence, “It’s markets were know far and wide, always full of the bounties of vine and vale. It was so peaceful and prosperous.” 

And then Balin’s gaze shifted to the enraptured hobbit. His look was so pained that she thought he might be physically ill.

Balin swallowed, “This city was the only one to lay before the doors of Erebor. And it was the first place that Smaug struck when he attacked.”

Lyla gasped, horrified.

Oh, no.

All those people?

“They had no warning,” Balin continued, “No time to prepare. The only thing we heard was the wind, coming down like a hurricane…and then fire blazing brighter than torches.”  
Balin swallowed again and stayed silent, his gaze drifting back towards The Lonely Mountain. 

Lyla cast her eyes away from the dwarf and stared at the bottom of the boat in wonder and trepidation. 

What was she going to meet once they arrived? The ruins of a city turned to ash? Would she encounter that same dragon fire?

But something bothered her.

“Why,” she began hesitantly, “why would he attack Dale? Surely his eye was on the mountain the wealth there. Did he really only deal out death simply because he could?”

Thorin’s gaze found her own, “Wanton death was dealt that day, little hobbit,” The dwarf king’s eyes were hard, bitter. “The city of men was nothing to Smaug and therefore he  
cared not for its fate. He is not quite so sentimental as you or I.”

Lyla swallowed as the fear increased ten-fold. 

She felt the crushing weight of responsibility bearing down on her. If she failed or angered Smaug, he could attack Laketown. What would he care for the countless lives lost?

Oh Aule help her. 

She brought her knees to her chest and rested her chin upon them, staring at the mountain, her thoughts swirling.

*****

Long after they’d stopped talking Thorin’s gaze shifted between watching the mountain—his home and heritage—to watching Lyla as she tucked in on herself, a habit (he noted) she did whenever she was nervous or worried. 

In this case, he suspected it was both. With her small arms wrapped around her knees, she hid her face and stared out towards the mountain, her eyes (framed by her unruly curls) the only thing he could get a good look at.

They betrayed the look of anxiety she was feeling. Her hazel orbs were wide, unblinking as she gazed at the ever-growing visage of a tall, snowy mountain ahead of her. 

He watched Lyla shudder again and pull herself tighter together. Bofur’s arm came around her in comfort. 

And Thorin was shrugging off his coat and rising before he knew what he was doing. 

Quietly, he stepped towards the hobbit and laid his fur-lined coat around her shoulders, tucking the material together. 

He hoped it would bring her some small semblance of comfort and peace during this tense time.

“I-I can’t take this!” she admonished quietly, her eyes wide and surprised. 

Thorin spied the small smirk on Bofur’s face, though Lyla did not.

The dwarf king laughed lightly, “No, keep it for now.” He remarked flippantly, “We dwarves are not as impervious to the climate as you might be." He winked. 

And then sobered at her widened eyes. She hadn't caught his jest. 

"If you are impervious, why would you give me your coat?"

Perhaps because she had never witnessed him make a jest...

"Keep it," he quickly remarked before she could remove his coat and give it back. "The cold does not bother me, as it might you. We can’t have you freezing.”  


A blush worked its way onto Lyla cheeks and she gazed in back in appreciation for his generosity. Bofur snorted in amusement at the exchange.

“Oh. Uh, thank you, Thorin.” Came her whispered reply as she burrowed deeper into the warmth the coat provided, the words floating over Thorin’s skin like rainwater, and he felt something alight in his chest as he heard his name fall from her lips, her lilting voice gentle. 

With a nod of his head, he turned back towards the mountain.

‘Givashel’ he thought the word again fondly.

*****

Further to the West, in the heart of Mirkwood, a lone elf stood and waited. His brown hair was disheveled, his eyes almost wild as he gazed around nervously and if it weren’t for his pointed ears, others might have found it hard to classify this anxious creature as an elf, whose name evoked visions of a stoic and patient race. 

But, an elf he most certainly was. And, this elf was nervous.

Galion had never been this fall from Thranduil’s halls before. And standing here, alone, in the heart of the forest so tainted by evil, left his skin crawling in fear. 

A low twig snapped and he jerked his head around in fright. 

A long creature stepped forward, weapon at the ready. 

Galion stood face to face, with a pimply, pocked orc, it’s overly large yellow eyes wide and suspicious as it hunch forward, until its long arms were almost dragging on the ground.  
“What news?” the creature hissed at Galion, its slimy hands gripping a menacing axe firmly, as it bared its teeth at the elf.

Galion swallowed hesitantly and tried to reinforce his nerves, “Azog,” he murmured, “is dead. A hobbit, Lyla Baggins, was the one to do it, I believe.”

“A hobbit?” The orc hissed again, saliva dripping from its jagged teeth, “What is a hobbit to us? We seek after Thorin Oakenshield the dwarf, not this hobbit.”

Galion nodded quickly, hoping to avoid angering the creature. He was unarmed after all--his weapons taken by the guards to ensure his docility when faced with the orc general. 

“Yes, I know this. And the hobbit was one of the companions to follow him on their quest. According to the others who witnessed the event, the hobbit tricked Azog and released the dwarves down the river in Barrels, heading towards Laketown. Azog followed after her and it was reported this morning that his remains had been found by the leader of the city.”

The elf’s thoughts soured as he thought of the tiny creature who had tricked him and helped the dwarves escape, leaving him trapped in that cell for hours and making him an outcast among his own people.

He was humiliated.

But more than that, an anger burned in him for the power he KNEW she held. A power that he wanted to get his hands upon. 

Something whispered in his ear when he had stood near her. Some delightful wickedness called to him.

Oh how he longed to make that power his own.

The orc snarled and stepped closer, his grip tightening around his weapon as he gazed at the elf. 

“And what good does this news do me?” The orc spat, his blackened saliva splashing onto Galion’s face, “You’ve let them escape.”

Galion held up his hands in surrender, trying desperately to quell the growing tension, “Yes, yes I know that,” he agreed hastily, “But the city has been overrun by men who share a similar alliance to yourself. They serve the dark lord and would be most anxious to make an…arrangement with you as well…I’m most certain…” 

Galion trailed off gazing at the orc before him with a growing sense of unease. 

He hoped this plan would work.

The orc, to his surprise, chuckled, a low guttural and grating sound on his sensitive ears.

“Yes, we’ve known about this arrangement for quite some time. Our…benefactor…has been in contact with this ‘Master’ for many months in preparation for the dwarves. But tell me, where are the dwarves now? Where is this…hobbit you speak of?” 

“I-uh-overheard that they are headed towards Erebor as we speak. They go to reclaim the mountain from the dragon.” And then Galion’s face went thoughtful, “And even if they succeed, they are just numbered fourteen, hardly an army to contend against the might of the orcs and goblins surely?”

“And what of the pathway? Is it cleared for us?” The orc hissed, eyes narrowing, “Do not think that I won’t suspect treachery on your part, elf.”

Galion nodded eagerly, trying to reassure the impatient creature before him. “Yes. The rumor I started concerning the passage way being overrun by goblins has spread. No one dares travel that road. You are quite safe to make your way towards Laketown and Erebor.”

The orc nodded, a sickening smile spreading across his face. “Good. Very good. You aren’t completely useless to us then.”

Galion nodded his head in appreciation. “I’m much better suited for this type of work than what my kin seem to believe me capable of.” He muttered lowly. “But I must return or they might suspect something of my absence.”

The orc nodded again and watched the elf, with hooded eyes, his face contorted into an unreadable mask of thoughtful assessment.

But it wasn’t until Galion turned his back, that he learned the true nature of the orc’s look.

Something sharp and jagged tore through his back, making the elf gasp in surprise and anguished pain as he slowly dropped to his knees, the wind being pulled from his lungs.  
He felt as though he were underwater, unable to breath. 

He felt like he was choking.

He heard the orc laugh as he dropped further to the ground, unable to control his arms any longer. 

He felt lethargic.

He felt the numbing pain creeping over his limbs.

He spied the spiked boots of the orc’s as it came to stand in his line of sight. The creature crouched down and rolled the elf over, causing Galion to groan in pain as stars dance before his eyes. 

The orc leaned close, its putrid breath filling the elf’s nostrils.

“I’m afraid,” he hissed in Galion’s ear as the elf gasped for breath, “that you are no longer of use to us.” 

The orc brought his knife to the elf’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...what think ye of this chapter? Interesting? Boring? 
> 
> And the next chapter will hopefully be up either later today, after I get some sleep, once my Tylenol kicks in, or the following day. 
> 
> And here's a fics for you to enjoy as well:
> 
> A crossover Sherlock/Hobbit combo that's simply amazing: 
> 
> chappysmom's 'There and Back': http://archiveofourown.org/works/845517/chapters/1614729
> 
> A great fem!Bilbo AU that's a unique twist on the familiar Hobbit tale 
> 
> Luckyhai5's 'Good Morning': http://youtu.be/13iWaaUdyI0


	47. Desolation, Hopes, and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorting through dreams, fears and hopes for the future...
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> http://youtu.be/KcjvhowmIoE  
> http://youtu.be/zFWPkmHLWeA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Well, first and foremost, thank you for the great response for the last chapter! You are all so amazingly wonderful and kind to this reader. I am always so humbled and surprised by your reviews! You are wonderful people. 
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the hits, and all the love. I appreciate it. 
> 
> And this chapter...sigh...okay, so sprained wrists make it hard to type at my normal speed. So I apologize for that. And this chapter was bit of an emotional one for me to write, so it took its toll. It's the tipping chapter for so many things to come...
> 
> And it's a rather LONG chapter so that should please you, I think? 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! I hope...

The clouds were clearing away, the bright blue of the sky peeking through, when their boat reached the far shore of Long Lake. 

The sun cast a gentle warmth on the backs of the company as Bard hopped ashore and appraised the sloping cragged and prickly hillside that rose steeply upwards, the blackened remnants of trees dotting the hillside. He admired the new life that had begun to spring as well. He noted the small saplings, blooming brilliant green as the frost of Autumn had not yet touched their young branches. 

He heard birdsong and his eyes traveled upwards towards the flittering wingspan of thrushes twittering overhead (something he had not seen in many a year). The gentle thrum of crickets swelled within the trees and he felt the cool breeze against his cheeks. 

And hope swelled within him. For if life could spring forth after the wroth of the dragon had descended upon this place, then certainly he could hope that the will of a wizard, the resolve of a hobbit and her dwarves, and the determination of the elves and honorable men of Laketown would be enough to secure their survival.

They were like the saplings, pushing upwards, growing stronger each day.

Just so long as they had hope. 

Bard cast his gaze towards the company as they slowly moved from the boat, grabbing packs and supplies in an orderly line. Thorin had been the first to embark from the vessal, after Bard, and he quickly organized the dwarves into an efficient mass of moving muscle, his natural leadership taking command of the situation.

“Get the supplies unloaded, we don’t have a moment to spare,” He barked quietly, but forcefully, his gaze shifting towards the sloping hills. “We can make it to the upper ledges by nightfall if we’re careful and move quickly.”

The dwarf with the hat, (Bofur was it?), hopped from the boat onto the rocky shoreline and reached in, grabbing the little hobbit, under her arms like a child and lifted the protesting creature onto dry land near himself.

“I could have gotten out on my own you know,” She remarked a slight scowl on her face, though even Bard could tell that it was a halfhearted gesture. He noted the way her eyes crinkled around the edges and flashed with mirth.

Bofur only laughed, “Aye lass, I know that you’re quite capable of takin’ care of yerself, but I’ll be keepin’ me eye on you. Best accept that yer family now and be done with it.” He ruffled her air affectionately and she snorted in annoyance two soft patches of pink alighting her fair cheeks and tried to step away, nearly tripping over Thorin’s coat that pooled at her feet.

Bofur chuckled and steadied her, but Bard didn’t miss the way Thorin’s jerked towards the hobbit, his expression twisted into worry as he watched the small creature tip backwards. The dwarf king’s eyes lingered the hobbit, scanning her face carefully, eyes assessing.

Bard knew that look well.

It was the same look he had given Freida when they’d first started courting.

Bard’s heart suddenly ached for his wife, her rich mahogany curls, and startlingly fierce green eyes. She was a spirited and beautiful creature who brought light and joy to Bard’s life, even amidst the trials of destitution. 

And here he stood now, observing that same look of careful adoration and reverence that he once held, marring the features of a king. 

Bard was also certain that the young Lyla Baggins did not fully understand the depth of the dwarf’s affections for her. 

Nor, too, he surmised, did the dwarf himself.

'Freida' He thought wistfully, a deep ache hollowing out his heart. 

He was grateful she wasn't here to see the suffering of her people. 

To see the wickedness of her brother.

But the obvious attachment between the dwarf and the hobbit made it all the more clear to Bard just why The Master had chosen the little creature to be his puppet for the journey. It was obvious she was endeared to the hearts of the company. BUT, it was also apparent that the king (the most influential of the group of dwarves) held a special regard for the hobbit. 

And The Master had manipulated that fact and twisted it towards his advantage. 

Bard’s gaze drifted back towards the hobbit and his thoughts turned contemplative. He wondered how someone so small and seemingly insignificant could sway so many. 

How could she hold so much power?

“I wouldn’t bother laddie.” Bard swiveled to the side and noted the white-haired dwarf standing near him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

How had the creature snuck up on him?

“Excuse me?”

The dwarf smiled again, “I said I wouldn’t bother laddie. Try as you might, you’ll never quite figure out the strength of that little hobbit lass over there. She’s a mystery to us all. Best just trust the wizard’s word and be done with it.”

“I wasn’t-“ Bard fumbled for words, “I WANT to trust her. I’m just…I—“ 

He sighed, running his hands along his coat gently. 

The dwarf smiled again, “Aye I know. You are afraid. Afraid of what might happen to that town of yours. Afraid of the dragon.”  
Bard nodded his head thoughtfully. 

“Yes. Though Esgaroth is not my true home, I do fear for its safety.”

“Where do you hail then?” The dwarf asked genuinely surprised. “I had supposed, because of your fierce defense of the people…”

Bard smiled softly, “My mother said we hailed from Dale. My bloodline was one of the few to survive the scathing rebuke of the dragon’s fire. We sought refuge in Esgaroth.”

The white haired creature’s eyes lit up in understanding, “Ah. Yes. I understand your doubt more fully now. You fear that the same fate to befall Dale will befall Laketown as well.”  
Bard nodded, his eyes drifting back towards the little hobbit who was now removing the overly large coat and folding it in her arms, her face contorted into a pinched look of worry and hesitation.

“I only want what is best for the people. I want to ensure their safety. And I’ve never known a hobbit to willingly enter battle against such insurmountable odds to aid others.”  
The dwarf let out a low chuckle and adjusted his sleeves, his beard swaying gently in the growing wind.

“Aye, but I trust the wizard’s judgment. That little creature over there has a great deal of courage and is determined to protect her friends.” His gaze turned towards Bard, and the bowman was surprised by its hard fierce look. “And though I understand your reasonings, you should not doubt her. Mahal knows she’s saved our lives numerous times already. Who knows what the little one has in store for the dragon.”

Bard bowed his head in agreement and let out a low sigh. “I do not doubt her heart,” he murmured, “Only the reach of her arm.”

But then his face contorted into a soft smile as he thought again to the little saplings sprouting up along the side of the mountains, their small leaves reaching heavenward.

Perhaps Lyla Baggins’ reach would be just enough after all? 

*****  
Lyla was loathe to give back Thorin’s coat. 

Sure she’d miss the warmth it provided her. But more than that, she’d miss the smell that encased her senses as she had hunkered beneath the soft material, cocooned and warm. 

He smelled of cinnamon and pipeweed.

And apple blossoms in springtime.

And a deep heady scent that reminded Lyla of the forests of East Farthing—rich and musky and earthy—where she spent many days of her childhood wandering around, imagining grand adventures and searching for Elves and the familiar pointed grey hat of her mother’s wizard friend. 

It was a blessedly comforting familiar concoction of smells that left Lyla utterly contented and relieved.

And it brought back to mind the moment near the river. 

Warm arms encircling her, fingers running through her hair slowly, softly.

The strong, steady, gentle thrum of a heartbeat.

Yes. She was loathe to give that coat back.

But even she wasn’t daft enough to expect sure footing to be her ally is she had to contend with the pooling fabric around her feet. 

Nor, too, did Thorin insist she keep the coat. 

He seemed to agree with her assessment, his fingers brushing across her knuckles as he took the article without a word or complaint, and donned the coat once more and giving Lyla a soft nod of his head as he stepped past her and towards Gloin and Bifur. 

“Be prepared for a hard climb,” he murmured briefly, giving her shoulder a small squeeze has he ghosted past her.

Lyla turned her head and watched him for a moment, memorizing the wavy ebony locks cascading over his shoulders, his bright blue eyes alight with activity, calculating and thoughtful. His mind was working rapidly to assess their situation and plot the best course. She admired the way his mouth pulled into a small frown, his lips puckered into a pout.

Her thoughts were jumbled, her chest tight and she felt a familiar heat rise on her neck.

‘Stop it Lyla. Do not think such thoughts.’

Too many emotions were flooding her system at the moment, making it impossible to decipher them. She didn’t need to dwell on Thorin.  
No indeed. She needed to focus.

And what could would such thoughts do anyway? It’s not like…

‘Stop.’

Lyla closed her eyes for a moment and let out a small breath of air, trying to clear her head. 

‘You must think on other things Lyla. Stop this foolishness. Nothing will come of it.’

“This is where I must leave you all, I’m afraid,” Lyla’s eyes snapped open as Bard’s voice filled her ears. He stood near Balin, his face pulled into a look of Stoic determination. “I must try to make it to the far shore by nightfall. And you have a long trek ahead of you.”

His gaze briefly settled on Lyla and he tilted his head gently in her direction. 

A sign of respect.

One that Lyla returned in kind. 

“I wish you all the luck in the world. May fate be with you until our next meeting,” Bard’s eyes locked with Lyla’s again and a soft smile graced his worn and wearied face.  
“Good luck,” he murmured quietly, nodding his head again as he retreated into the trees.

*****

Thorin hadn’t been jesting. 

The trek proved to be quite taxing. The pathway was in disrepair, cluttered with all manner of fallen rock, contorting what would have been a smooth upward sloping road, into a hazardous ascent through loose rubble that, with one false move, could send rocks clattering down upon the company members. So bad was the damage, that Lyla nearly doubted the existence of a pathway at all, though Balin reassured her that there had, indeed, been a rather marvelous road, smooth and steady.

“Aye it was a wonder to behold. Made trade between Dale and Esgaroth a marvelously easy task.”

Now, though, after the ravaging of the Dragon, and the long years of disuse, the road had reverted back to a rocky, uneven walkway that threatened to turn your ankle if you placed one foot wrongly. 

That being said, had they tried to navigate off the marked path, their going would have been much slower. Loose, charred sandy soil greeted them with blackened trees interspersed among even more rocky juts and pivots. In other parts, the rocky ledges were so steep that, it would have been nearly impossible to travel upwards without someone becoming injured in the process. 

No, it was actually far safer to travel along this ‘roadway’. 

And truthfully, they were making marvelous time all things considered. The company moved as one solid unit, lined up single file, with their packs hoisted on their shoulders. Thorin led with precise movements that the rest tried to mimic carefully, aware of the hazards that flippant behavior would elicit. 

Even Fili and Kili refrained from their usual raucous behavior, electing, instead to focus on carefully placing their feet. Though that didn’t stop their boisterous laughter from permeating the stillness that surrounded the company as they moved upwards. 

Lyla had found herself wedged between Bofur and Bombur at the back of the line, with Bombur’s hand frequently coming to rest on her shoulder as he gently nudged her up the steep incline. Bofur, too, would extend his hand during the particularly jagged points, pulling her upwards carefully, so as not to jostle the loose ground.

Occasionally, though, despite their best efforts, rocks would tumble downwards, sending sprays of chalky dust (not dampened by the rain the previous night) clogging airways as the rocks pelted their heads and arms. 

More than one gave Lyla a nasty knock on her arm or head.

But thankfully, none of the falling objects were overly large so as to cause true damage, for which the small hobbit was thankful.  
Overall, though, the climb was tedious and tiring and took several hours. 

Lyla tried to focus on the nature around her. She tuned her ears towards the soft sighs of the wind as it breezed past her ears, cold and refreshing. The soft smells of pine and oak mixed together with the distinct smell of ash, the blackened trees from years ago still standing among the vegetation growing and thriving. 

The scent of dampness also tickled Lyla’s nose, bringing on memories of the forest rains in The Shire. 

She gazed around her thoughtfully, noting the contrasting colors of black and green and grey that surrounded her. These colors were harsh, vibrant and contrasting and swirled together in a pool of death and life. 

She wondered at all the things that had been destroyed by the dragon. 

A small shudder ran through her at the image of fire burning bright in the sky, consuming everything in its path. 

And then the soft twitter of bird song reached her sensitive ears and Lyla looked upwards, her face alight in wonder and reverence for the small creatures who winged through the blue, their wings fluttering and flapping, their voices trilling through the air. 

“A raven!” Oin regaled excitedly, “The birds are returning to the mountain.”

A soft smile worked its way on Lyla lips.

“That, my dear Oin,” she murmured, “Is a thrush.”

“Aye, it’s true then. The portents.” Gloin remarked contemplatively as he too gazed upwards, halting for a moment behind Balin and Thorin. “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, then the rein of the beast will end.”

Lyla’s thoughts flashed back to The Master. Hadn’t he said something similar?

The familiar weight of unease settled back in Lyla stomach. 

The sensation only increased as they crested the large hill and gazed from atop the peak of the lower lying hill lands into a valley. 

Lyla’s heart hitched into her throat and she let out a low gasp of anguish.

The mountain loomed even larger than before and she noted just how prominent and powerful it stood against the blue of the sky, it’s white peak like a beacon of grace and justice and a reminder of the kingly heritage that founded the home hidden beneath the outward façade. 

Lyla frowned and blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes as she looked upon the dwarves’ home.

Soft white billowing mist swirled around the lower valleys, creating an ethereal vision.

An ethereal vision marred by destruction 

What stopped her thoughts of wonder, was what lay at the feet of the mountain’s powerful visage.

She gazed through the valley towards the remains of what must have been a spectacular city. 

Dale. 

Sitting atop a small hill of its own, the city stood in tatters. Tall, proud buildings, decorated in enchanting golds and burgundies were marred by crumbling rooftops, cracked walls and the blackened scorch marks of fire. The wall that surrounded the city, buckled in many places, weakened by age and destruction. And in many other places, the rocks had disappeared entirely. 

Lyla squinted and spotted a tall rounded building, its roof knocked in half. It would have served at one time (she supposed) as the meeting hall due to its size and location.  
The destruction wasn’t limited to the confines of the city either. The outcroppings of land, the sloping hills surrounding the city were flat, desolate, devoid of life. 

No trees grew, the remnants of a once proud forest stood as a testament of what this thriving metropolis must have looked like. 

Lyla’s heart twinged in anguish at the realization that even had the townspeople of Dale and Erebor escape from the Dragon’s destruction of the city and the mountain, they still had to trek through the fiery wasteland surrounding their home. 

The suffering they must have seen.

The hobbit’s ears twitched and she acknowledged, with a twinge of trepidation, that the air had gone still, the sounds of forest life (the crickets, the birds) had dwindled.  
They were left in an eerie silence. 

The wind blew softly, much colder now and Lyla’s breath came out in a puff of visible air. 

She shuffled closer to Bofur, whose arm wrapped around her instinctively, and gazed towards their leader.

Thorin’s own eyes were stilled by the scene before him, a frown on his face. The dwarf kings brows knit together as he leaned on his axe and stared upon the destruction.  
The desolation of Smaug the dragon, that he had not seen since he had been driven out all those years ago. 

Lyla’s heart ached for him, for all the dwarves in this company who had experienced the pain and the sorrow of having their home taken from them. 

And in that moment, as she looked closely at the stoic vision of the king before her, Lyla could see the lines of age, the worry, the fear and the doubt that Thorin held for their quest. She could see the toll this entire journey—from his exile from Erebor, through all his years of displacement, and to this very moment—had taken on the dwarf. 

He was wearied. 

Lyla quelled her trembling courage and forced herself to stand straighter. 

It would not do.

She couldn’t bear to see anyone like that. To see such life-ending sorrow, such despair. 

Not again. 

So Lyla Baggins would do whatever she could. She understood their pain, their loss. 

And she would help them take their home back is she could. 

Fear be damned.

She was going to be brave.

*****

Despite her resolve, despite the words of encouragement from Gandalf, despite the comfort of the dwarvish company surrounding her, when Lyla laid herself down to sleep that night, her mind—wearied from travel, trial and strain—conjured up her worst fears and memories and brought them forth into a terrifying cacophony of images that her susceptible state could not repress.

She’d been grateful that she had pulled her bedroll far enough away to not accidentally kick any one while she slept.

She’d woken up gasping, clutching her chest, feeling the rapid beating of her heart trying desperately to suppress the images that flooded her senses, forcing tears of anguish to fall from her cheeks as beads of sweat gathered on her brow. 

Over and over again she saw her mother, withering away, diseased sorrow clouding her mind, destroying the life that used to burst from every fiber of Belladonna’s being.

She saw her father, stilled, pale on his bed. She’d never spoken to him. She’d never gotten to say goodbye.

And Bilbo, listless, eyes wide and unseeing, muttering something lowly in the darkness of his bedroom as he too faded form existence. 

And then Azog. The terrifying spectre of death haunted her every footstep. His crushing force and snarling face, loomed over her as white wolves from the Fell Winter crowded around, each snapping and snarling and scratching at her.

Azog had laughed and she was forced to watch as the orc took the dwarves, one by one and…

Lyla balled her hands into tight fists.

And now, as they sat at the doorstep of their next great challenge, Lyla’s mind played upon the desolation she’d witnessed. She saw countless bodies strewn throughout the streets of Dale. She saw the soot covered faces of dwarves and men as they scrambled from their homes, desperate to get away, to preserve their lives. 

But then she also saw fire descending from the sky, towards Laketown, engulfing the old wooden city in flames that licked every building, tearing homes and families apart.  
And the screaming of little children filled her ears as she lay helpless to stop the destruction or to help.

The crushing loneliness she felt was unbearable. The guilt that coursed through her made her stomach churn in disgust. 

Lyla let out a shuddering breath. And squeezed her eyes shut, willing her sobs back. Forcing herself to be silent.

But a hand resting on her shoulder, jolted Lyla and her mouth opened of its own accord to let out a loud scream of terror.

Or she would have, had not a large hand hastily covered her mouth to muffle the sound another arm snaking around her shoulders to still her panicked movements. 

Lyla gazed up with wild eyes and into the face of Thorin Oakenshield. 

“Hush,” He murmured sternly but quietly, “Be still.”

Relief flooded her and her movements ceased and she tried to calm her hitched breathing and wildly beating heart.

Slowly, the dwarf king released his grip on her shoulders but hesitated a moment to release his hand from over her mouth.

He gazed at her thoughtfully, his dark blue eyes narrowed, the low burning fire casting an eerie orange glow across Thorin’s cheeks. 

“Come,” he murmured after a moment, “We must talk.”

Slowly, his fingers slipped from her mouth and he rose to his feet, holding his hand out for Lyla to accept.

Confusedly, the hesitantly reached upwards and grasped onto Thorin’s hand.

The dwarf king hoisted her to her feet and, never releasing his grip, led her from the huddled group of sleeping dwarves, carefully stepping over limbs.

The pair moved silently away from the camp, the warmth of the fire growing fainter and fainter, as they travelled down a small slope and towards a low outcropping out of sight and downwind from the rest of the company. 

Shrugging off his coat again, he turned to face a confused hobbit and quickly placed his coat once more around her shoulders.

“Sit.” He commanded quietly, tugging the material of his coat downwards, the force pressing Lyla downwards until she was, indeed, sitting on the rocky ground.

Thorin crouched in front of her and pulled his coat around her tighter, staring into her eyes for a moment, his look hooded, as tendrils of his dark hair tumbled over his shoulders and into his eyes. 

With a sigh, he rose again and ran a hand through his hair, his feet beginning to move. 

He started pacing, muttering something lowly as he cast Lyla a long, measured look before stilling and leaning against the rock face, his arms folded over his chest.  
“Tell me what troubles you ,” He murmured quietly, his voice low, eyes narrowed.

Lyla gazed back utterly surprised and confused. 

Why did he care about that?

Well she KNEW he cared. He’d said as much. All the dwarves did.

But this wasn’t important. She didn’t need to bother him or anyone with her…

She swallowed and forced the images back down, locked away into the recesses of her mind.

“Nothing.” She finally remarked, averting her gaze, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Thorin’s growl made her jump and she looked up into his face and noted that his eyes flashed dangerously, his face contorted into a furious scowl.  
“That’s hardly the truth,” He ground out, “And I’ll not here those words come from your mouth again.”

Lyla bristled.

“Are you ORDERING me not to do something?” she questioned indignantly, shrugging the coat off and trying to rise to her feet. She glared at the dwarf king before her.

The dwarf king who only sighed in annoyance and marched over, forcing Lyla to sit back down as he rewrapped his coat around her.

“Would you stay still you foolish creature?” He grumbled, “You’ll freeze if you don’t.”

“What would that matter?” She grumbled petulantly as she stared at the dwarf’s boots, her eyes narrowed and a scowl on her face.

Thorin sighed exasperatedly. “I didn’t mean to cause an argument.” 

“Must come naturally to you then.”

She was surprised when she heard the deep chuckle reverberating from Thorin’s chest and she looked up at the dwarf’s amused face. His eyes were crinkled around the edges, a thin smile on his face.

“You’re beginning to sound like Dwalin,” He remarked, his voice devoid of the previous annoyance.

A small smile found purchase on Lyla’s lips as well. 

“I’ll take that as a high compliment then.” She remarked casually, her nostrils filling with the all too familiar scent of Thorin’s coat, as she snuggled deeper beneath its fabric.  
Thorin nodded his head in agreement, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. “Indeed you should. Dwalin is an honest, perceptive friend. And he would have said the same thing, mark my words.” Thorin chuckled again, “When we were younger, he and D-” 

Thorin's mouth snapped shut and he sobered, the mirth fleeing from his gaze as he stared back at the hobbit.

He cleared his throat and a soft remorseful smile replaced the amused one. “But, we shall talk of that another time.” 

His gaze found Lyla’s and he searched her face for a moment. 

“I know you say you are fine, mistress Baggins,” he started slowly, watching her face carefully for signs of annoyance, “But I see the shadows under your eyes. I hear the muffled gasps you make when your dreams force you back towards reality. I know you are haunted.”

Thorin stepped forward slowly and crouched near Lyla again, his hands reaching beneath the coat to grab her smaller ones.

“Tell me what troubles you. It would help ease the burden you bear. Please.”

Lyla stared back, feeling the heat rising on her cheeks as Thorin knelt before her, his eyes piercing into her own, locking her gaze in a firm grip that refused to release her.  
She felt drawn to it even as she felt a sense of panic and fear at the strength of the connection between them. 

And his tone had been pleading. 

But she didn’t want to burden him with this. He had so many other important things to deal with. He didn’t need to concern himself with her.  
“It’s nothing to worry about,” She remarked slowly, “I-I don’t…I’ll be alright. Just memories getting the better of me.”

Thorin’s head dropped forward, his hair falling around his face, obscuring him gaze from her own. 

He let out a sigh as his grip softly tightened on her hands. “Stubborn creature,” He murmured. 

“I hope,” he whispered softly, his thumbs rubbing small circles on her palms, “I hope that you will learn to trust me one day. Your relationships with the others are so easy going, so effortless. I hope that…I would wish that you would trust me as you do them.”

Lyla’s eyes widened at the confession and she felt a pang of guilt course through her. “I do trust you!” she remarked quickly. “Of course I trust you.”

Thorin’s face rose to meet hers, a deep sadness piercing his gaze. 

“I have much to make amends for,” he murmured leaning closer to her, his warm breath washing over her face, “I have much to atone for with you. I have wronged you in countless ways. But do not bear this burden alone. Do not struggle with the weight of despair upon your shoulders. Do not let fear weaken you.”

It shook Lyla to the core. She saw a raw pain a true camaraderie in his looks. He truly understood her nightmares. He knew the pain she was going through. And she knew he was right. And though it would be painful, she did need to release this anguish.

Then a thought struck her.

“And what of you?” She whispered back, “What cares weary your dreams Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thorin’s eyes widened for a second as he peered at the hobbit. "They are nothing." He remarked after a moment.

"Stubborn creature," She mimicked his earlier statement.

Lyla gave a small smile back towards the dwarf king, who knelt humbly before her.

“Tell me your cares, oh great dwarf king,” She replied softly, “And I shall tell you mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then, what did you think? Lots of emotional stuff coming your way...
> 
> I'd love to know your thoughts on the chapter. What did you think? 
> 
> And as always, check out these lovely writers: 
> 
> Luckyhai5 and her AU fem!Bilbo work 'Good Morning'- .  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And chappysmom who has too many wonderful stories to count!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom


	48. Cast Off Your Burdens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purging the grief
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> http://youtu.be/i7MLT4MmAK8  
> http://youtu.be/hW93CV6m-JU  
> http://youtu.be/EMsTSdHIJds  
> http://youtu.be/gzM69btqtYI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, here's the conversation...it's kind of a big deal for the story...or at least that's how I see it anyway. I hope you will too...
> 
> Thank you for all the support. You guys are amazing and wonderful and I'm basically just a giddly little happy writer. Thank you.

It was a strange concept for Thorin’s mind to grasp onto. 

This little hobbit, with her wide, innocent, unassuming—yet compassionate—eyes sat before him, a soft smile on her face. And she asked about HIS welfare. 

HIS!

Worse still, she was using his request to take care of HER against HIM. 

Somehow, the little hobbit managed to turn things around to care for others before herself. 

And While Thorin found it mildly annoying and frustrating, he also found it endearing. 

‘Sneaky, stubborn little thing…’

She cared for him. She cared for HIS happiness. She cared to ease his burdens.

And that baffled him. WHY would she care about him? After all he’d done? After all he’d said? Why would she still desire to ease his worries?

He should be the one to shoulder the burdens. She didn’t deserve the anguish he and this journey had put her through. 

And yet, she sat here desiring to know his fears, his troubles, his cares.

WHY?

“You’ll never cease to amaze me I think,” he finally murmured with a small smile of his own.

Thorin pulled back from Lyla and stood with a sigh, combing through his hair and gazing down at the hobbit’s upturned face, her expectant look, her kind smile.

He could feel the cracks of resolve spreading, feel the tendrils of fear seeping through the façade he’d careful held onto for so long.

Here he stood so close to home, after so many years of hardship, loss and anguish.

And Lyla’s one simple request was breaking the wall he’d built to repress all of it. 

Thorin sighed and closed his eyes briefly, refusing to allow her to see the fear he felt in that moment.

He steeled his resolve and squared his shoulders

“Perhaps it is time I took my own advice,” He remarked quietly, opening his eyes again and gazing down at the hobbit whose face betrayed her concern.

“I don’t mean to cause you such sorrow. Forgive me,” her voice held chagrin and he noted how her brows furrowed, her eyes filled with remorse. 

Mahal help him, her eyes… 

“You do not cause me sorrow,” he remarked lowly, swallowing the emotions down, “I have borne this for too long. And I cannot ask something of you when I am unwilling to do the same.”

He smiled softly, but it was pained. He could feel the tightness around his mouth, the strain on his cheeks.

But he would do it.

For her. 

“Clearly you know that I had a sister,” He stated slowly, noting how the hobbit nodded her head, her delicate hand moving to her throat to grasp at the small leather band encircling her neck.

Where his sister’s ring resided.

“Dis,” He sighed, “was my younger sister. Mother to Fili and Kili, obviously, and my dearest friend.”

He gazed back at the hobbit, the tempest of emotions welling up in his chest.

“But I had a brother as well. Frerin. He was the youngest of us, always trailing after Dis, and Dwalin and I…”

His eyes lost their focus on the world around him as the thoughts slowly descended, completely engulfing him in memories that he had fought so hard to keep at bay.

“Dwalin probably had a better relationship with Dis than I did. Those two were thicker than thieves, you know. They did everything together. He was her best friend, her protector, and her confidante. Much more than I could be anyway.” 

Thorin smiled softly.

“When you are true siblings, you don’t always get along, you see. And she and I, being so close in age and temperament, would get into some spectacular fights. But Dwalin was always there for her, always patient and thoughtful…even when she was betrothed…”

Thorin blinked a few times, coming back to himself and gazed down at the hobbit, who had tucked under the warmth of his coat, her head resting on her knees, eyes riveted to his face, her gaze filled with trepidation.

“After the dragon took The Lonely Mountain, my grandfather, was devastated. His mind was consumed with the gold sickness, the desire to have untold amount of wealth…”  


Thorin swallowed, “He became...bitter, hardened…and then…” Thorin sighed, “Then he tried to reclaim the ancient lost Dwarf kingdom of Moria.”

Thorin felt his own panic rising, his own fear taking hold.

He wanted to stop these memories from coming, to push them back, to lock them away again.

But the dam had burst and he couldn’t fight it anymore. 

“Of course Frerin and I were expected to fight. Being the heirs of Durin held certain responsibilities. Dis’ husband, too, was called to the front lines. But Dis? Though she was probably a better warrior than any of us, my grandfather refused to allow her to enter battle. And I agreed with him.”

Thorin’s eyes slipped closed and he sighed.

“She and I got into the worst fight over the matter. Dwalin told me later that our voices had carried over the entire encampment.”

_‘You cannot force me to comply with this! Grandfather knows! He knows that I can do this. He knows that you need me there!’ she hissed stepping toe to toe with Thorin, ‘I’m a better fighter than all of you combined!’_

_‘‘So sure of yourself!’ Thorin spat in return, ‘Just let it go Dis! It’s not worth it. You need to stay here and be safe!’_

_‘‘Safe?’ She remarked incredulously, ‘What do I care about being safe if my family is lost in the process? All of you off to war to reclaim a kingdom…Why should I sit idly by when I can DO something to protect you?’_

_‘‘You know nothing of battle!’ Thorin thundered, ‘And grandfather is right in keeping you here. You are a wide-eyed innocent little simpleton to desire to fight. It’s not a glory search! It’s war. Hard, bloody war. It is not something you should desire.’_

_‘‘And Frerin should?’ Dis remarked, ‘He’s barely of age, isn’t skilled in battle, and you’ll condemn him to this…this fate?!’_

_‘‘It is not me that condemns anyone!’ He thundered in reply, ‘I go because I must. HE goes because he must. We are bound by orders of the king.’_

_‘‘A king who has lost his mind,’ Dis muttered lowly, her eyes downcast her dark hair shielding her face, ‘This is a fools errand. And we cannot stop it. But, I could protect you…’_

“Thorin?” Lyla’s voice broke through his senses. He saw her hazel eyes alight with worry, her face pinched into a confused, hesitant look.

The dwarf king shook his head lightly to clear it. “I’m alright,” He murmured, “forgive me.”

Thorin cleared his throat. 

“That argument was the last time she and I ever really spoke.”

His chest tightened painfully.

“And it’s the last time she spoke to Dwalin either because he sided with me. He…he didn’t want to see her hurt, you see. He cared too much for her…But, all she felt was betrayal.”  


Thorin clasped his hands together and started pacing slowly, refusing to look at Lyla’s face for the moment. 

It was hard enough thinking of these things. He couldn’t bear to look at her face when he said this…

“When we arrived at the gates, we discovered that our enemy had gotten there first. The halls had been overrun by legions of orcs. Giant, hideous orcs, led by the most vile of all their race…” Thorin sucked in a breath, “Azog the defiler.”

He heard Lyla’s sharp inhale, the small squeak of surprise and panic escaping her lips.

But he wouldn’t look at her.

He couldn’t.

“When Azog saw us marching on the gates, he swore, then that he would wipe out the line of Durin...and he began with my grandfather, the king. “ Thorin clenched his fists as anger started to pulse through his veins, the memories still fresh and haunting even after all these years, “He beheaded him and in a fit of spite tossed my grandfather’s head at my feet. But then, then he turned his attentions to my brother. Dis had been right, you know, Frerin was not ready for battle. Barely older than Fili and Kili, and my grandfather had forced him into armor…He never wanted to fight anyway. He preferred peace and diplomacy...But my grandfather insisted and berated him until he conceded...”

Thorin still and swallowed several times to stop his voice from cracking.

“And it wasn’t hard for Azog to pick him off. His back had been turned…he was completely engaged in fighting…and then…”

Thorin trailed off, frowning.

He’d been too far to aid Frerin. He had seen Azog descend upon his brother, but his cries went unheard. And he couldn’t get there in time.

“Frerin fell swiftly, and I thank Mahal for that small mercy, though having to witness such an even was a terrifying ordeal. And then, Azog turned his attentions towards me, for which I was unprepared. My armor had been rent, my shield lost” he whispered, “But then…then...I saw it.”  


Thorin suddenly turned his back completetly Lyla as the familiar scene played in his head, the images crisp in his mind’s eye.

“I saw myself. A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc. Only…”

He turned with a tight smile to face Lyla again, “it wasn’t me.”

He watched Lyla’s eyes widen in understanding, and Thorin’s eyes dropped to the ground.

“She and I always looked so alike; we were often mistaken for twins. And that blasted…”

He clenched his fists again.

“She’d dressed up in my old gear, and had taken to using my name. Everyone thought she WAS me, so it was easy for her to get lost among the ranks. We, her closest family and friends, were none the wiser.”

Thorin frowned, “And she stood there, facing Azog, trying to defend her brother, her last brother, from facing death. But even with her skills…even with her determination, her armor was weak.”

He could feel the warmth pooling in his eyes and he tried desperately to quell the aching anguish that was sweeping over him.

He’d been such a fool then…If only…

“I watched her fall…it was almost graceful. I saw her face when the last light of life flickered from her eyes.”

He shuddered.

“She smiled at me. Our last parting had been an argument and then there she lay, dying for me.” His voice was rising, “FOR ME! And, and she smiled…”  
A tear slipped down his cheek and he hid his face from Lyla’s view as anguish took hold.

“Somehow, I-I managed to drive Azog away. That’s how his arm…” he trailed off clearing his throat again, “And we were able to drive the orcs back, back into that accursed hall. But our victory was so bittersweet…our dead were beyond the count of grief. I lost everyone. My father disappeared, wandered away, driven mad by grief. Even Dis' husband fell that day.”

He lifted his head and gazed at Lyla again. “And when Dwalin found her…that look will haunt me forever. It nearly destroyed him. She was everything to him. He lived to please my sister and their last parting…he never got the closure. He had stood by me, by my word and it had cost him his friendship. If he had agreed with her, and known of her plans perhaps he could have…” 

Thorin shook his head.

“But, he listened to me. He followed his duty. He followed me. And it cost us everything…”

*****

It felt as though the air had been crushed from her lungs. She felt like she was drowning.

Aule…

She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to fall.

“Thorin,” She whispered starting to rise. She needed to do…something…anything…

But Thorin held his hand up to stop her.

“No…” He murmured, “No, be still. I have more yet to say.”

Thorin slowly came towards her and knelt once more in front of her, his face contorted into a raw pain that she had never seen on his face before. His blue eyes sparkled and swirled with sorrow and untold years of pain.

“First, however,” He whispered, reaching up and wiping a tear from her cheek, “Tell me what troubles your heart.”

Lyla felt a deep seeded guilt. Surely her worries were nothing compared to his.

“My life is not so terrible, all things considered,” She remarked slowly, “I should not complain…”

“Stop.”

Thorin’s gaze was firm and strong as he stared back at her.

“So stubborn. Always so stubborn," He muttered in annoyance, "Mahal, would you stop for one moment? Do not think that your worries are so inconsequential!" He chided, "I’ve never forgiven myself for what happened between my sister and Dwalin. And I cannot change the past. But,” A small smile worked its way back onto his wearied and sorrowful face “I’ve only seen my closest companion so fiercely loyal to one other person in my life.”

Lyla was confused. Her brows furrowed.

Thorin reached out and grabbed a hold of both her shoulders.

“You came to this company under the guise of being your brother. You dressed as he did, you took on his name…fought for us…” He trailed off his eyes going hard, as Lyla’s own widened in recognition.

“I didn’t…” she was fumbling for words, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Hush.” Two fingers rested on her lips as Thorin smiled lightly. “I meant no offense, but I find it no coincidence that YOU were chosen for this quest. Of course, there was no way you could have known. But Dwalin must have…and he saw something in you that reminded him of Dis. The same spirit…” Thorin snorted lightly, “Mahal knows you’re as stubborn as she was. And he was determined to protect you, to give you a chance…”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pursing into a thin line, “And while I’ve certainly made many mistakes up to this point, doubting you, fighting against those memories that you unknowingly conjured up, I am determined to make things right. You deserve that much at least. And so does he.” His gaze softened, “Dwalin cares deeply for you. And he’s worried for you. I’ve seen it in his eyes as he’s watched over you these last few weeks and I know that he would never forgive me if I let this go, Mahal knows I’ll not forgive myself…” 

Thorin shook his head lightly and muttered something Lyle couldn’t quite make out.

And then he brought his face closer to her own, his nose touching hers as he peered into her eyes carefully his forehead coming to rest against her own.  
“If you’ll not do it for me, then do it for him.”

At that Lyla cracked. 

Tears filled her eyes and Thorin gathered her into his arms, pressing her head into his shoulder, as she recounted the Fell Winter and how she’d gotten into a fight with her brother before storming out into the snow to visit her uncle. 

“I wanted to get away from Bilbo,” she murmured, “decided to go get the herbs my father needed for his tea that evening…even though he protested and begged me to stay and sit with him for awhile…”

She trailed off, as the tears dampened Thorin’s shirtsleeve.

A soft hum of understanding reverberated from Thorin’s chest as he ran a few fingers through her hair.

So she pressed on. 

She talked of the giant wolves that had descended upon Hobbiton, catching her unaware as she made her way home that evening. She’d been surrounded by snapping and snarling faces, their growls echoed in her ears. One had caught her cloak, trying to drag her into the woods…

Until the rangers came that is.

“The wolves scattered and I was able to get away and rush home, my herbs lost…But I was alive,” she murmured, “But when I walked through the door, I knew-“ she choked back a sob, “Something was wrong. And when I went in to see my mother I saw my father and…and he had passed on.”

Lyla swallowed thickly pulling back from Thorin’s embrace to wipe at her eyes.

“He begged me to stay and all I cared about was getting away from my brother…if I had only…”  
She sighed.

“You know, Bilbo never really spoke much after that. My mother either. I watched them…fade…until they weren’t there anymore and I was left behind. Left to pick up the pieces. Left to carry the guilt.”

Suddenly she pushed away from Thorin and stood. 

“I was just a child really. And I was so selfish!” She ranted starting to pace, “Most of our neighbors and family said that perhaps if I was better-behaved then my father would have been in better health instead of wasting it worrying after me. Oh, if I had been the respectable daughter instead of a wild little nuisance perhaps…perhaps he would have lived…perhaps Bilbo and I wouldn’t have disagreed so often…and my mother would have…”

“No, Lyla. No. They were fools. All of them. Your neighbors, your family. Even me.” Thorin came towards her again, standing near her side as he watched her carefully, “Do not wish to be anyone other than you. You’ve never had a chance to grieve. You were forced to grow up far too quickly…much as Fili and Kili were…”

He reached out and grasped her shoulder again.

“Never wish to be anyone other than yourself. It was Lyla Baggins who tricked the trolls, Lyla Baggins who faced down Azog, more than once in defense of a dwarf king who did nothing but demean her, Lyla Baggins who fought spiders and wargs and elves to ensure the success of this quest. And it is Lyla Baggins who fights for the welfare of townspeople she does not even know.”

"Anyone would have done that..." she muttered averting her eyes.

He turned her until they were face to face again. “No," He replied, "No, not all would do what you have done. And don’t hold onto the unfounded guilt you carry. You could not change what was to happen, though my heart grieves for one so young having to face so much. But, never think that it was your fault.”

He brought her into a tight embrace, much to Lyla’s surprise, resting his head atop her own as he continued to murmur softly.

And she felt a heat rise on her neck as his arms came around her and the soft smells of cinnamon and pipeweed filled her nose. And she savored the contented feeling flowing through her veins, and even if it was an unfounded regard, Lyla would cherish this moment.

“Promise me that you will never hold to that loneliness anymore. You may have lost much as a child, but you’ve gained so much on this quest. They love you. You have endeared yourself to the company.”

He shuffled back slightly and gently touched the small ring hanging around Lyla’s neck, a fond smile on his lips.

“You are family now,” He murmured, pulling her back into his hold, as her tears started afresh.

He held her close as the sky lightened, the first rays of the sun beginning to peek over the horizon, his own tears dampening her curls as they both finally released the grief they had held onto for so long.

****  
Unbeknownst to the hobbit and dwarf king, a warrior, a miner and two princes crouched above the outcropping, watching the scene unfold before them. 

“Aye, it’s about time,” Dwalin muttered lowly, a soft, sad smile on his lips as he thought of Dis and Moria and Thorin.

Of course the king had been wrong to think that it was his fault for Dwalin’s grief. No, Dwalin's remorse and grief were his own, and he had dealt and would deal with them accordingly. Thorin should not have blamed himself. 

But that was Thorin’s nature and the warrior couldn’t fault him for it.

Though he was certainly ever more grateful for the tiny hobbit lass who had wormed her way into the hearts of the company and who had, finally, coaxed the grief from Thorin’s lips like a poison.

And he was equally grateful to his oldest friend for returning the favor towards Mistress Baggins.

He cast a glance towards the other three, who sat gazing between him and the duo down below.

“Now, I think it’s ‘bout time ye lads paid up then, aye?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...comments are appreciated and welcome. Criticisms, thoughts, ideas...all of it is welcome.
> 
> *Hugs*
> 
> And check out these great works as well: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's 'Good Morning': http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And 
> 
> chappysmom's entire page: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom


	49. A Symbol of Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparing for action...
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/SMg0HsOtW2M  
> http://youtu.be/F-4wUfZD6oc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I certainly feel a big sense of relief from the last chapter, don't you? I hope you enjoyed it...
> 
> And thank you for all the support and reviews and for just being wonderful. You are all amazing and splendid! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. 
> 
> And there's a good chance I might get another chapter up sometime in the near future...I've started feeling under the weather again so it's goofing up my sleep schedule. 
> 
> BUT, on the bright side, I finally figured out what's making me so ill...it's mold...yucky disgusting mold. Apparently there was a leak in my closet wall and water from the sprinklers outside my apartment was dripping down...
> 
> anyway, not pleasant, but getting taken care of...thankfully! 
> 
> And I'm babbling...sorry 'bout that...go read the chapter. I'll stop talking now!

“Mithrandir, if what you say is true,” Thranduil remarked rubbing his thumb across the tips of his other fingers, “Then the world is in grave danger.”

The elf king watched the Grey Wizard warily from his chair within the small, secluded alcove off the throne room, his eyes sweeping over Gandalf’s wearied form. Thranduil noted the way the wizard leaned, quite heavily, on his staff.

Gandalf nodded his head quickly, absently, his unfocused eyes betraying his strayed thoughts,

Something troubled him greatly.

A piece of information that he had overlooked nagged at his brain, begging to be acknowledged.

But he couldn’t figure just what it was.

“Indeed,” he finally replied quietly with a sigh (determined to ruminate on these thoughts later), “And I believe that Dol Guldur is only the beginning. Something far more powerful is at work here, though I cannot yet see it.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed slightly and he tilted his head to the side in thought.

“And what if this whole plot with Laketown, Dol Guldur, and The Lonely Mountain—supposing they ARE connected—proves to be a trap?”

Gandalf’s gaze locked with the elf king’s and a thin, humorless smile formed on his face, his grey eyes flashing.

“Oh, it’s undoubtedly a trap.” He murmured, “And you’ve already felt the effects of it, I believe. So, too, has Thorin Oakenshield and his company. And I believe, that we will yet feel more.”

“And Thorin does not know of what you found on your search of the old fortress?”

Gandalf shook his head once, a clear indication for the negative. “No, indeed not. Not yet at least. I plan to tell him AFTER they contend with the dragon.”

“And you would share this information with me?” Thranduil tried to hide his confusion, but the timbre of his voice faltered, “Why?”

“Because you, above all others, know of this power permeating the forest, its influence, its corruption. And,” Gandalf’s eyes narrowed in thought, “And you’ve witnessed it destroy your family as well.”

Thranduil’s eye twitched for a brief moment, barely long enough for Gandalf’s quick eyes to catch the movement. 

But, catch it he did. And that small, infinitesimal movement proved that Thranduil understood.

The elf king had not been himself. 

He was not still quite the elf he used to be, but he was getting better.

But, what the wizard had spoken was true.

A dark power had closed around him and clouded his judgment, poisoned his mind. 

It was the same power he’d fought against with his father so many years ago, the same power that TOOK his father, leaving a still very young elf prince to oversee the welfare of his people.

Yes, Thranduil could see the trap closing in around his people and the men of Esgaroth.

And for the moment, he also held a small shred of pity for the dwarf king’s plight.

The question now, though, was what were they going to do about it?

“How are we to complete this…mission…of yours when it is almost certain that The Master has learned of my son’s presence within his town? And with the dwarves no less,” Gandalf didn’t miss the way Thranduil spat the words, “Surely he will suspect something if we were to march down upon them.”

“Yes,” He conceded, “Yes I had thought of that…”

Then Gandalf smirked.

“And it is precisely the leverage that WE need in order to combat against the current leader of Laketown.”

“You ask me to put my son at risk?” Thranduil replied incredulously, “And for what? Some dwarves?”

Thranduil snorted at that thought.

“Dwarves, that by right, should still be in my dungeon right now.”

Gandalf sighed, “Save me from your stubbornness and pride! You are far too quick to anger. You are worse than Thorin Oakenshield, holding onto these grudges and I do not give you counsel and advice on for you to hold onto the past injustices inflicted upon you!”

“You ask me to forgive them then?” Thranduil retorted, his eyes flashing, “To forgive those who betrayed my people and brought the wroth of the dragon so close to my borders?”

“No.” Gandalf remarked, “In fact I’m hoping to use your…distaste for the dwarves to our advantage. All I ask is that you set aside your contentions, for now, in order to aid the people of Esgaroth, who are innocent of any crimes against you and deserve none of your derision.” 

Thranduil nodded thoughtfull, “Yes, of course I know that,” His eyes dulled for a moment and a brief flash of sadness splashed across his features. 

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “I have not been myself lately and I fear that my temper has suffered for it.”

Gandalf smiled and nodded his head again, slowly this time. “Another advantage in our favor, I think. The Master must have suspected the sway the forest was having on you, for how else would you have missed the goings on about Laketown? And he knows that the dwarves came from your palace, as well as your history of animosity …that way your inquiry about your son’s location will not rouse so much suspicion and persuasion will convince the enemy to trust you. Hopefully, by then, Legolas and his troop will have completed their task.”

Gandalf noted the hesitation in Thranduil’s eyes. He could see the elf king warring with himself over something.

“And what of this halfing?” He murmured, his voice low and questioning, “What part does SHE play in all this?”

Gandalf chuckled. “Well, her official title is burglar, for the purposes of the company. She’ll be taking on the initial scouting of the mountain and of the dragon Smaug if it comes to that.”

Thranduil looked rather baffled by that statement. “Surely she is not equipped for such a task. She is only a hobbit after all.”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the king, “Hobbits are much more than they appear, Lyla Baggins in particular. She is no dwarf, and therefore not swayed by gold or riches. Nor is she an elf with a contentious relationship with the dwarven race. She had ensured the safety of her companions on numerous occasions; she has a quick wit and sound judgment. I trust her to complete her task. No other can.”

Thranduil’s brows drew together and Gandalf contemplated the reasoning behind the elf’s flashing eyes. Thoughts were whirring in Thranduil’s head.

Concerning the hobbit.

“What concerns you of Mistress Baggins then?” 

Thranduil visibly started at the wizard’s voice.

“Nothing so much to be concerned with,” He muttered in reply, “Just curious. How one so small and ill suited for travels and adventures of this sort could have endeared herself to such a large group. Dwarves, elves, men, a wizard.” He eyed Gandalf carefully, “There is much unanswered about the hobbit. You speak vaguely of her as does Legolas. And though I didn’t listen to her then, I believe the Lady of Lothlorien knows the creature’s fate and influence far better than we.”

“Indeed, I did not think that Lady Galadriel knew of the hobbit’s presence in Rivendell those weeks ago, but it appears I am wrong on that score.” The wizard smirked thoughtfully, “It would appear that the hobbit does INDEED have many more roles to play in deciding our fortunes.”

And then Gandalf winked at Thranduil.

“Including, purveyor of clarity, wouldn’t you agree?”

Thranduil frowned at Gandalf’s obvious jest, his eyes narrowed.

But Gandalf could also see the curiosity burning behind the derisive façade. The elf king was genuinely curious about Lyla Baggins and her purpose and place so far to the East.  
And, Gandalf would admit this to no one, but a curiosity also burned within him as well. He was anxious to know of Galadriel’s regard for the hobbit and what that meant for Lyla, for it was no small thing to be known to the elf queen with the gift of foresight. 

That familiar nagging sensation tickled his brain and he felt, once more, that there was a piece of information he was overlooking. 

But all questions and curiosities would have to be answered in time. 

For now, they had a task to fulfill, and a very short window of time to do so. 

“Come, then, we must prepare for the dawn.”

*****  
The words had been spoken.

The tears had been shed.

Lyla had finally relished in the grief she’d held onto for so long. She’d finally spoken of her fears, her guilt, her family, all of it.

Well all that Thorin didn’t already know.

He knew of Azog and the Trolls and the forest…

But not of her family.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone of her feelings on that matter.

Until now. 

Lyla knew that she should feel relieved and at peace and content. And she DID...

But she also felt the renewed scarring pain that she’d so carefully tucked away and ignored. And that pain made reality distort, made her thoughts slow. She seemed to lose concept of time as she drowned in the memories of her mother’s stories by the fire, her father’s exasperated smile whenever she came into the house caked in mud and Bilbo’s playful banter whenever it was too cold to go outdoors. 

Oh how she missed them. 

She wasn’t sure WHEN the crying had ceased or when she ended up back on her bedroll, wrapped in her blanket and Thorin’s coat.

But that is where she found herself as she blinked back to reality.

Comfortable and warm…

And surrounded by the low bustling noise of the company as they prepared for the day. 

Lyla’s eyes travelled upwards to gaze at the sky and she was surprised by how light it was. The soft pinks and oranges of dawn were giving way to the rich blues of morning. Low clouds, white as snowdrops, slowly lazed overhead, propelled by the light, chilly breeze of Autumn. A single bird chirped somewhere in the distance. 

Lyla bit back a sigh and started to rise. Best not to delay the journey.

A hand on her shoulder halted her movements and she was eased back down onto her bedroll. 

She jerked in surprise and tried to roll away.

Thorin’s deep, throaty chuckle reached her ears as he face appeared, looming over her.

“Easy, burglar,” He murmured lowly.

“Sorry,” she remarked, “You startled me.”

Thorin smiled in understanding and amusement, though the sparkle of happiness didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So jumpy all the time,” He remarked, “We must remedy that someday. But for now, rest a moment longer. It’s been a trying night.”

Lyla wanted to protest.

She wanted to declare that she could handle things just fine, thank you.

But today, her heart wasn’t in it. 

She didn’t need to prove him wrong. 

She didn’t really want to prove how strong she was either.

She just wanted a moment of peace.

And that’s what Thorin was giving her, so she wasn’t going to spoil it. 

Judging by his pinched expression, his wearied eyes, tight smile, and disheveled hair, the dwarf king could use a moment as well, for he had been through just as much emotional turmoil as she had.

A twinge of guilt sparked in her. He had comforted her, but had she returned the favor?

"Thorin?" She murmured, noting the way his gaze fixed on her intently, his eyes curious and piercing.

Lyla swallowed and scooted upwards, to the dwarf's protests.

But she'd have none of that.

"I ah, wanted to thank you and...apologize."

Thorin looked confused. "Apologize? Whatever for?"

She felt the familiar creep of warmth on her neck and averted her gaze in embarassment. "I, ah, I-that is," she cleared her throat lightly, "I know that you, you were very...kind to me last night and I feel as though...er...as though I let you down by not returning that kindness towards...you."

Her gaze flicked upwards and she noted that the confused expression had not changed, though the dwarf's blue eyes had softened.

And then he smiled and shook his head lightly.

"Stubborn creature. Always so stubbornly concerned about others before herself." 

He gestured for her to lay back down, but when she didn't he sighed and nudged her shoulder with his hand. 

"Do not be so hasty of assume that you did not bring me comfort," He murmured, as she got comfortable again, tucked under Thorin's wonderfully smelling coat. "In fact you brought more comfort to me than, I'm afraid, I brought to you."

When Lyla made to protest, he hushed her with a gentle hand on her lips.

"No. Do not worry about it. Just rest. We have a long day ahead of us."

So, with her heart fluttering and a strange sensation in her chest, Lyla let her eyes slip closed and relished in the soft warmth of the sun on her face.

And the even softer caress of fingers running through her hair as Thorin hummed a low tune. 

Though her emotions were confused concerning the dwarf, she relished in the comfort Thorin’s presence brought her. 

It was quiet.

But as all things do, eventually, a soft shake of her shoulders roused her into alertness as Thorin murmured in her ear that it was time to prepare, and she rose to attend to pack for their ascent to the hidden doorway that led to the lower halls. 

Or at least that’s where Balin had told her they were going back on the boat.

She had just finished rolling up her bedroll and was attaching it to her makeshift pack when a large shadow dimmed her vision. 

Lyla gazed up slowly, expecting to see Thorin, or Bofur or Dwalin.

She was surprised, however, to see Bifur standing before her, a rather serious look upon his face. 

With wide eyes, she slowly rose to her feet and gazed at the dwarf carefully. She knew full well that Bifur could not speak Westron. His head injury prevented it.

But she knew that he could understand it well enough at least.

“Erm, uh, hello Master Bifur,” she fumbled for words as the dwarf’s unblinking gaze caught her off guard, “What-er-what can I do for you?”

At that question, Bifur finally blinked and stepped forward, muttering something in the secret language that only the dwarves knew. He reached forward and grabbed hold of Lyla’s hand, his larger one coming to rest atop hers.

Something small, but heavy dropped into her palm and then Bifur was closing her fingers around the object slowly, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

Carefully he pressed her hand against her chest and then, with his finger, he tapped his forehead and then tapped hers.

A gesture of affection.

Giving her shoulders a gentled squeeze, Bifur slowly turned and walked away, leaving a stunned hobbit staring after him.

She noted, too, that she wasn’t the only one who appeared surprised. Fili and Kili had stopped their packing to watch the exchange, eyes alight in with fascinated wonder. And Bofur, too, wore a gaping, grinning, expression and gazed between Lyla and his cousin with a mixture of awe and confusion. 

Lyla gazed down at her hand, pulling it away from her chest and slowly uncurling her fingers, her curiosity piqued. 

A surprised smile split her face as her heart swelled with affection for the dwarf who couldn’t speak.

But his gift spoke volumes. 

In her hand was a spectacular carving of a star flower. 

It was Lyla’s favorite flower (though she wondered if the dwarf knew that bit of information)

But it was the meaning of the flower that sent warm tremors of appreciation down her spine.

All hobbits knew the language of flowers. And Lyla was dually surprised and impressed at Bifur's attention to the tiniest detail, (for each petal was delicate and lifelike) as well as his knowledge of flowers and their symbolism. She KNEW that his choice of flower could not be a mistake.

It was a fitting gift for one who was about face a dragon and Lyla noted that a small notch was worked into the back of the carving so that she might attach it to her leather necklace. 

‘They care for you…’ Thorin’s words echoed in her head as the healing pains worked to mend the rift in her heart, slowly helping to bind the wounds that resided there and making her feel...

whole.

She untied the leather and slid her treasured gift from Bifur next to Dis’ ring (another irreplaceable treasure of friendship) and retied the leather around her neck, admiring the delicate beauty of Bifur’s skilled craftsmanship again.

And she was thankful for the dwarves, her dwarves, and the little token now residing near her heart, 

Her little symbol of courage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? A bit of a relief chapter after all that emotional strain, aye? All the same I hope you enjoyed it. We're gearing up for Erebor...among other things...and it's going to get a bit crazy in the coming chapters so I hope you're prepared.
> 
> And as always check out these great authors with their wonderful stories: 
> 
> chappysmom: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> and Luckyhai5 with her adorable fem!bilbo au 'Good Morning: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	50. Clouds Gather and Birds Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans roll forth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my apologies with the slight delay in posting this chapter. I've actually had to cut it into a few smaller chapters, to make it easier to digest...or in other words, to make it easier for me to keep track of all the chaos going on. I hope it's one that you'll enjoy, though I'm not quite satisfied with it myself.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all the support. You are all wonderful and amazing. :)

Legolas’ sensitive ears picked up the delicate whispers of movement through the trees as a doe slowly picked her way through the undergrowth, her gait cautious and wary. His ears also picked up the faint chirping of insects, whizzing about through the branches.

But what he was straining to hear were the low murmurs of men’s voices, carried by the wind. He knew there were still patrols combing the woodlands on the outskirts of Laketown. 

And he was doing his best to avoid them. 

Gazing from his perch high in the trees, he peered down the slow sloping hill and fancied he could see the dark shapes of men as they lumbered through the undergrowth.  
And then, the soft murmurs he’d been hoping to hear were gradually growing in volume.

The men, The Master’s men, were making their way up the mountain.

Undoubtedly in search of the Bowman’s son.

As well as himself. 

They had been witnesses to The Master’s dirty work after all. 

A small shifting movement on the branch he was crouched on, alerted Legolas that Tauriel had returned.

“What news,” He murmured, never taking his eyes from the growing shapes.

“Twenty at least,” Tauriel’s lilting voice hummed through the air, "Though we can't be certain of how many more men are up the river on patrols."

Legolas could feel the tension radiating from her form as understanding raced through his mind.

This was going to be tricky.

“Then we best get moving,” Legolas sighed shooting the she-elf a look of resigned determination. “You and the archers will head South-East, bypassing the group coming up the mountain. I’ll be taking the rest North-East towards the lip of the lake, where we’ll meet up with Bard and make our way down towards the banquet hall. By then my father will have made it and, Aule willing, he will have created a sufficient distraction so that we may slip in relatively unnoticed.”

“And what of these forest-combers?” Tauriel questioned warily, casting her gaze down towards the shadows who were still a league away, “How are we to bypass them?”

“We’ll stay upwind of them if we can help it—travel a few leagues before heading down. But,” His brows knit together, “If you run into any trouble making your way to the lake, you know that we cannot allow anyone to sound the alarm. Make sure your spotters are alert.”

A low whistle, disguised as a birdsong, pricked at Legolas’ ears, making them twitch. Two low, long pitchy reverberations rolled through the air.  
It was familiar.

And two whistles signaled they were a league upstream.

“Time to move,” he muttered. 

*****

Thranduil kept his face pulled into a frown as he spied the first wave of men patrolling the forests near the docks leading towards Esgaroth. His guard stayed close at hand, encircling the elf king at every angle to ensure his safety. 

He knew that even in the trees, scouts observed the activities below, their mistrust on high alert. 

They would not allow harm to come to him, should anyone attack their party.

Thranduil’s sharp eyesight caught a glimpse of the banquet hall, situated right on the shoreline. It was the first building that you passed by as you entered Laketown and one of the only buildings to actually rest on solid ground.

It was the only place large enough to house the children beneath it.

And though Thranduil trusted Gandalf, trusted his son’s judgment, and trusted the truthfulness of the young boy, Bain, a shred of doubt still flickered in his brain.  
Or rather he had HOPED it wasn’t true. For who would wish such wickedness upon a people?

Yet the closer to he came to the town of men, the more he could feel the crushing weight of evil spreading before him, increasing in strength and size.  
Such news to his heart, made him frown in contemplation. 

He had missed all the signs, all the warnings.

He had been too consumed by the evil to prevent it. 

His gaze hardened has they approached the a trio of guards, who appeared wary and surprised to see them. He noted the way their grips tightened around their weapons as their eyes narrowed.

Thranduil came to a halt and stood staring.

Waiting.

“What brings a convoy of Elves to Esgaroth?” One man, a bearded fellow with bright red hair and narrow, pinched eyes stepped forward, challenging the elves that stood before him. 

Thranduil was not impressed.

“I am Thranduil, king of the woodland realm, the great halls of Mirkwood. And I come,” He remarked coldly, “in search of my son.”

A spark of recognition lit the eyes of the man before him and a low murmur of curiosity overtook the other two members of their group as they watched the elves with interest and a predatory gleam.

Thranduil suspected their thoughts, but feigned ignorance. Cleaving, instead, to the anger and the discontent his senses had be awash in a few short days ago. Until a little hobbit…

It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

“And why are you travelling towards Esgaroth then? What suspicions do you have of our town?”

The same red haired man frowned at the elf king challenging him, trying to bait him. He wanted an excuse to attack.

But Thranduil was thinking clearly now and would nto fall for such a trap. No, he had his own game to play.

The elf smirked derisively. “Because he was taken down river, trying to assist a small hobbit and her dwarven companions out of my halls a fortnight ago. I have not seen him since then.”

The man’s weapon came up and pointed towards Thranduil’s throat as his companions raised their weapons.

Thranduil’s guard brought forth their own weapons and aimed their arrows, their bows pulled taut. Waiting for the enemy to make the first move. 

“If your son,” the man spat, “is in league with those dwarves then you, by association are considered criminal.”

Ah. There is was. The perfect excuse for the men of Esgaroth to wage war against the elves.

Thranduil snorted at the thought of being in league with Thorin Oakenshield. He raised his brow in challenge to the man’s accusation.

“I can assure you, that I am not privy to my son’s thoughts and motivations. Nor did I encourage the dwarves’ escape from my halls.” He frowned narrowing his eyes at the man, challenging him as well.

He wanted to assure him, that he thought little of the affairs of the dwarves and that he did not suspect the wickedness engulfing the town.

“I simply desire to see my son. And, if the dwarves,” He spat the word, “ARE held somewhere within the confines of your town, I’d hope to have them returned to my halls. They were captured for trespassing, I wish to exact justice upon them.”

The man’s gaze was still narrowed, suspicious and assessing, hoping to find a flaw or flinch in the elf’s gaze.

But Thranduil was stoic, a statue in expression. He kept his gaze stiff, frown firmly in place. 

The man’s own gaze faltered and his eyes shifted between his small group and Thranduil’s well-equipped guard. 

He sighed and lowered his weapon. “Come, then. I’m sure The Master will wish to speak with you concerning the dwarves and your son’s hand in their troublesome appearance.”

“Indeed,” Thranduil muttered, stepping forward to accompany the man and the rest of the guard that were closer to the borders of the lake. 

He hoped that this would serve as enough distraction.

Overhead a low rumble of thunder echoed through the skies.

*****

Bard’s glance strayed, every few moments, towards the shoreline as he picked his way through the undergrowth. The longer he traveled the more of Laketown he was able to behold and the more his heart hammered in his chest as worry gnawed at his stomach, setting him on edge. 

Only resting for a few hours during the night, he was anxious to make it to the northern shoreline, where Legolas was supposedly (hopefully) waiting and where they would take a wide arching route towards the banquet hall. 

He wasn’t so anxious, though to become careless in where he walked. He marched ever closer towards Esgaroth, well hidden in the tree line, wary of patrols. 

He had a task to fulfill and he could not hope to accomplish that if he were lax.

The time he took, carefully marking his steps, did give his companion a chance to converse with him. 

A small thrush fluttered near his head, its whispers tickling his ears.

Since he was young, his mother had taught him of the gift his family held:

They could communicate with the ancient race of thrushes that inhabited the area surrounding Dale. The first time he realized that he could understand these species of bird, and the fact that they WILLINGLY listened to his remarks or requests, sent a thrill down Bard’s spine. And since then, he’d used the birds to his advantage, spying and gathering information. 

It was certainly a handy little advantage to hold. And, it gave him a scout who would signal whenever danger lurked by. 

So far it had worked. Every few minutes, the bird would fly on ahead, circle the area and quickly return to report any findings.

He’d managed to avoid two small patrol groups because of it, though it surprised him that patrols were up this far.

Doubt tickled his brain. Did The Master suspect?

“Anything ahead?” he murmured quietly as the thrush, whirred past his ear, the soft flutter of its wings blowing air in Bard’s face.  
A series of low chirps whistled through the air, sounding ordinary to anyone listening.

But to the bowman, the phrase was as clear as the water from long lake, lapping against the smoothed rocks of the shoreline.

‘Nothing yet. No guards. But crows. Many crows. Be careful.’

Bard nodded his head in thanks and continued to gaze about warily. He could feel danger lurking in the shadows, the whispers of a nameless fear sending shudders down his spine. 

But of course, he was bound to encounter some sort of trouble. That’s how evil worked, wasn’t it? Always hiding in the most unlikely places, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And even if his little thrush was a sharp-sighted creature, there were undoubtedly times when even his spotter missed something. 

Like now. 

A strange unease had settled in his stomach as the world around him fell into silence. 

A silence that blotted out the noises of all other life. 

The birds.

The rustling of wind.

The insects that hummed.

All of it was gone, in a flash, except for the soft flaps of the thrush.

Bard stopped walking and pulled out his bow, his eyes narrowing. He forced his breathing to slow, the erratic beating of his heart to ease. 

He willed the panic back down and waited, straining his ears, listening for any sort of sign, movement, rustling.

But only silence remained. An eerie foreboding silence.

And then a twig snapped, a few meters away. 

“Go,” he whispered into the air, “Go and find the hobbit and bring me word. Be wary of the dragon.”

The little thrush, twittering around his head circled once and then with a loud ‘chirp’ fluttered away as Bard brought forth an arrow and notched it into his bow, aiming it carefully towards the trees to his right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the thrush’s small form growing ever smaller.

“Hurry,” he whispered as the high-pitched cries started to echo in the skies as clouds billowed overhead.

A trio of hideous orcs burst from the trees, battle-axes raised, snarling and shrieking at Bard as they charged. 

And overhead crows, dozens of crows, cawed and flapped around the bowman’s head, diving towards him, pecking at his flesh. 

Bard released the arrow he was holding notched in his bow and impaled the one of the snarling beasts’ throats, cutting off the angry cry. 

‘Hurry’ he thought again as he notched another arrow in his bow.

*****

They'd reached the outskirts of the city of Dale when Lyla heard it:

The low rumble of thunder as the ground shook.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes and gazed upward, marveling at the storm clouds rolling forth, like massive billows of smoke. She felt her heart start to hammer and her chest tightened. And overhead more thunder rumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't find that chapter boring or tedious. This is the start of all the chaotic events to come, so I hope I conveyed that within the work. And, like I said, I've split up a big part into three smaller ones. 
> 
> Anyway, I'd love to hear from you. I'm curious to know your opinions. :) 
> 
> And check out these amazing authors and their stories:
> 
> Luckyhai5 and her au, fem!bilbo work 'Good Morning': http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And 
> 
> chappysmom and all her various 'Sherlock' works: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom


	51. Durin's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm begins.
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/tjZsC14rRjE  
> http://youtu.be/pAxNFchKayM  
> http://youtu.be/A76a_LNIYwE  
> http://youtu.be/tjZsC14rRjE  
> http://youtu.be/ucUp3nch7iU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry lovely people, that it has taken a little while to get this next chapter up. I hope you aren't too upset. And I appreciate the support you've given! You are all so wonderful. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter. And take a listen to the music I've posted if you're interested in getting a feel for the inspiration behind the work.

Bard grunted as he was overpowered by two orc warriors, their knives drawn in anger, their low guttural cries of fury ringing in his ears. 

He managed to take down three with arrows before the crows managed to distort his field of vision and harangue him with their incessant pecking—not enough to pierce skin or inflict real damage, but enough to bother him terribly.

Now as he fell, trying to fend off the scraping nails and claws of the green and grey skinned creatures, he acknowledge a growing dread and fury welling in his chest.

These damnable creatures were going to be the death of him?! The thought was so utterly absurd and ridiculous!

And yet here he laid, pinned beneath a vicious monster of a creature, staring down the jagged end of a knife. He could die in this moment

And he would have let them down. 

Everyone.

His son.

The children.

Even the little hobbit.

With a roar of frustration, he thrust his arms upward, catching one orc in the jaw. He kicked his legs and sent the other orc sprawling in a tangled mass of flopping limbs and annoyed cries.

Rolling, he managed to jab his bow into the orcs throat, pushing the creature completely off balance and giving Bard a chance to rise to his feet.

For a moment at least. Several crows dived at the man, sending him stumbling backwards in surprise. He tripped over one of the orcs and tumbled backwards, landing on his back with a groan of surprise.

And then an orc was on top of him again.

The orc he’d caught in the jaw, backhanded the bowman and managed to yank the bow from Bard’s grasp, his knife poised to strike the man in the chest. 

But something connecting with the orcs backside made the creature jerk forward in surprise and confusion, a look of pain crossing its features as the knife slipped from its grasp and it dropped forward landing atop the struggling man. 

The body was utterly still and Bard tilted his head, as he pushed the deceased creature off of him. 

He noted two arrows embedded into the creatures back. Bright golden and white arrows, far more pristine and elegant than anything he owned.

Elvish arrows. 

“Get them!” Legolas’ voice thundered through the air. “Don’t let anyone escape.”

The bowman scrambled to his feet as a large gathering of elves encircled the few remaining orcs, picking them off one by one.

The crows, sensing defeat, retreated, their caws echoing in the air. Bard dreaded where they might be heading, but there was very little he could do about them at the moment.   
Retrieving his bow, he adjusting his sling of arrows, ensuring that the black one remained and then he turned to face the elf prince, who stood, his lips thin and pursed as he gaze around. 

“Sorry we’re late,” The elf gave Bard a small smile and gentle clap on the back, “I was not expecting to find so many adversaries in these woods. This is bad news.” He shot a more somber glance at the bowman, “Those were no ordinary birds and they've returned to report to their master. We've but a short time to complete our task. We must hurry. My father would already be in the city by now.”

Bard nodded and followed after the tall, graceful creatures feeling a worry tickling his brain. If orcs were this far out, surrounding the lake, had they already infiltrated the city? Just what sort of alliances did The Master have?

He quickened his pace as he gazed at the cloudy sky, noting the lateness in the day. It was afternoon. They needed to hurry.

He hoped the little thrush had found the hobbit.

*****  
The silence was deafening as they passed through the city, the city that lay in tatters, in ruin and completely undisturbed for decades.

Lyla’s eyes shifted, absorbing every minute detail. She knew that the City of Dale must have been a truly remarkable edifice at the height of its glory. Everywhere there were buildings and winding streets, paved ever so carefully. The city was far larger than her little Hobbiton. 

And what should have been a grand and bustling city, surrounded by a thriving, rich forest, by all accounts, lay in ruin, a town of ghostly memories and unspoken horrors.

The outer wall was crumbling, entire sections missing. 

Houses had been demolished, rubble cluttering the streets.

Overturned baskets charred by fire lay, undisturbed, gathering dust

She even spied a small doll, obviously handmade, lying beneath a few strayed pieces of stone.

And everywhere there was ash. 

Piles of ash, and bone (and Lyla bit back a gasp when she realized that it WAS bone) littered the streets, tumbling into the open doorways with their splintered, sooty wood. Scorch marks, undimmed by times movement grazed most walls.

And surrounding the walls, skeleton trees, blackened and barren dotted the hillside. 

It was as if Dale was forever trapped in that moment where life and death connected. 

It sent tremors down Lyla’s spine. 

Dwalin set a comforting hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“Don’t think too much on it lass,” He murmured, his tone barely above a whisper and gruff with a bitter timbre, “Don’t think about it.”

The hobbit nodded her head and tried to brandish the disturbing thoughts from her mind as the silent company worked their way slowly through the streets.

That, however, was easier said than done. Each step she took brought her further into the city, further into the desolation.

She felt an odd, emptiness take hold of her. A sad bitterness swept through her veins. 

She caught Thorin’s eye and knew that he shared the same bitterness. His face was pulled into a frown, his eyes hard with a weariness weaving through the blue orbs. 

And she was grateful that they didn’t linger longer than need be, not only for herself, but for her companions as well. It seemed that no one was particularly anxious to remain in such a still and desolate tomb of memories. 

Though, she wasn’t particularly anxious to reach her destination either. 

Inside that tomb of a mountain, a dragon lay.

A dragon she was going to face. 

Her eyes swept over the mountain in awe and trepidation and she had to remind herself of the reason WHY she was doing this.

Why she was stepping into a dragon’s den. 

And WHO she was stepping into it for. 

As they reached, what she assumed to be the main gate of the city, a wide, expansive roadway met her feet and she gazed with renewed awe at the vision before her. 

The mountain sat, regal, unshakeable and proudly looming over the valley Lyla stood in. And the cloud cover only seemed to enhance this image, illuminating the jagged outcroppings and twisted, rocky spiraling peaks dusted in snow.

Lyla’s breath caught in her throat as she stepped onto the road and saw before her two exceptionally large figures hewn straight from the rock of the mountain itself. Two giant dwarven guards stood like sentinels, their immovable axes at the ready, protecting, what must have been a grand entrance into the mountain, now crumbled and buried beneath rubble. 

The breath disappeared from her lungs and she stopped for a moment spellbound by the image. It was almost surreal in quality and sent strange tingles down her arms and to her fingertips.

It was magnificent.

“Erebor,” Kili whispered, coming to a standstill next to Lyla, “I-I never thought that we’d ever get here.”

“Our home,” Fili murmured coming to stop on Lyla’s other side.

“It’s beautiful,” Lyla whispered in awe, her breath ghosting through the air.

“Aye lass, it’s certainly a sight,” Balin had stepped back near the two young princes and the stilled hobbit. Even his voice held a strange reverence. “You should have seen it in all its glory. Truly magnificent.”

“Yes.” Thorin had also turned and Lyla noted the dazed, faraway look on his face. 

The same look that many in the company shared as they too took in the sight.

“Yes, it was magnificent. And it will be again one day.” Thorin’s gruff voice was soft, gentle. He gazed at Lyla thoughtfully, some unknown emotion flitting across his face. “We’ll make it whole again. You’ll see.”

He gazed her a moment longer and then turned with a blink back towards the mountain in silence.

Lyla memorized the dwarf king’s silhouette as he surveyed his home, a home that he had not seen since he was forced from it so many years ago. The man stood proud, his shoulders squared, a determined air about him. 

“Come.” His voice carried over the stilled, silent company. “We still have a ways to go yet and the day is half over.”

Bofur turned back to catch Lyla’s gaze with a small smile and a quick wave of his hand as they resumed their march forward. 

She supposed he meant to comfort her.

So, too, she suspected, did Fili and Kili and Dwalin, as they remained on either side of her, as they followed their leader and king towards the entrance of Erebor. 

The closer they marched, however, the more Lyla learned of the dragon’s damage. One of the guards had been cracked, chipped, and disfigured, nearly broken in two, a sign that something powerful and sinister lurked beneath the façade of grandeur.

Lyla blinked a few times, her awe lessening as she was constantly reminded of the tainted spirit that hung over this place. 

A low chirping noise made the hobbit visibly start. She gazed up in surprise and confusion as a small bird careened towards her a ball of fluttering wings and anxious movement.  
Kili chuckled lightly, “Mistress Boggins!” he cajoled, “Startled by a tiny bird? How are you ever to face the terrible Smaug when you’re so flighty and skittish?”

Dwalin’s grip on her shoulder suddenly disappeared.

“Ow!” Kili cried pulling away and rubbing the side of his head, “What was that for then?” he scowled back at Dwalin.

“Oi you blockhead,” Fili retorted, “We’re right in front of the mountain! You can’t be makin’ jokes about the dragon, when it’s right there inside!”

Lyla gazed back towards Kili who had a sheepish look on his face.

“Oh, uh yes…” he trailed off giving Lyla a bashful smile. “Sorry.”

‘Oh give me strength’ she murmured silently turned a wide-eyed gaze towards the mountain, ‘Aule give me strength to do this.

And then, suddenly time seemed to speed up in Lyla’s eyes. The ascent to the hidden doorway was over in a flash. They traveled, single file, up the tall dwarven statue where a small path had been carved along the dwarf’s arm and axe handle, silent as mice towards a low lying outcropping tucked away from view. Once or twice someone’s footing slipped (even Lyla’s), but Balin’s suggestion to loop rope to their belts was a well thought plan, one that saved all their lives when Nori took a tumble backwards, nearly falling to his death on the jagged rocks below. 

Lyla also thought it was a stroke of genius to keep Bombur at the BACK of the line.

When they were all safely situated in the alcove and untied, the dwarves dispersed and clamored about the space, searching, whispering and gazing about in wonder. The sun was still too high, and they could do nothing but watch and wait for the right moment when the door would be revealed to them.

Lyla chose, instead of following their example, to rest herself for a moment. 

And all the while the little bird twittered and chirped near Lyla’s head, much to the hobbit’s surprise. 

“What is it you want little creature?” she murmured, curling into the inner most alcove of the outcropping as the other surveyed the view and hunted for signs of a doorway. She started, perplexed a at the fluttering wings and black eyes that swirled in her vision. “I’m afraid I’m not particularly good company.” 

The bird gave a mighty chirp and then pecked at the hobbit’s nose before settling on her shoulder with a small shake of its feathers.

Lyla rubbed her nose agitatedly and shot a perplexed glare at the small, flighty creature resting on her shoulder and turned to gaze at the sky, watching the way the dwarves fidgeted and explored, their energy coiled into every movement. 

Bofur stood closest to the hobbit, his face turned towards the valley, leaning on his mattock and tapping his fingers in a very careful rhythm. Ori stood across from him, jotting furiously in that journal of his (And how he managed to keep track of the infernal thing through all their travels Lyla had no idea). Every few moments the scribe would pause and gaze around at the company, eyes assessing and critical and then return to his task, his deft hand moving quickly across the pages. 

Bifur, Dori and Oin were gazing upwards at the height of the mountain, their mouths open in wonder, eyes wide. Occasionally, one would whisper and point upwards, the other two following suit.

Nori’s eyes, in contrast, were shifting around the ground, inspecting something or another, as he dragged his foot through the dirt, his face was pinched and contemplative.  
Perhaps he was inspecting the reliability of the stone?

But the others were huddled together, whispering heatedly as Balin and Thorin pointed at the map that the dwarf king held in his hands

“Durin’s day is upon us,” Thorin muttered his eyes shifting around “How-how will we know where the door is?”

“How indeed,” Lyla murmured gazing about. 

All she knew was that they were to stand by the grey stone at the last light of Durin’s Day. That didn’t exactly narrow things down did it? 

Everything was grey. 

“I see you have the right idea Lassie,” Oin remarked slumping down next to her. 

The bird on her shoulder gave an angry chirp and flapped forward, starting to peck at the unsuspecting dwarf.

“Hey!” Lyla cried, “Leave him alone. He’s not going to hurt you! Or me…or anyone really, so just calm down!

The bird chirped again, pinched the tip of the hobbit’s ear and settled back on her shoulder, its feathers puffed up and a glare (or that’s what it appeared to Lyla anyway) on its face.

“Temperamental little bugger,” she grumbled as Oin stared at her, a look of confusion written on his face.

“How’d ye get that little thrush to perch on yer shoulder like that lass?”

Lyla huffed and shot a glare at the bird, the thrush, that had closed its eyes for the time being.

“Nothing. I did nothing.” She remarked gruffly, folding her arms and scrunching her legs up, “The thing won’t leave me alone!”

Oin chuckled again and rubbing his cheek where an angry red welt was growing, “Mighty fierce little thing isn’t it...” he trailed off giving Lyla a thoughtful look, “Kind of like you hobbit folk I’d say.”

Lyla gaped at the dwarf in surprise, her mouth falling open slightly. 

Did he really just compare her to a tiny little bird?

“Aye that’s a true comparison isn’t it!” Bofur chortled, swing his mattock lightly, a grin on his face. “A little bird of a hobbit facing down a monster of a dragon!”

He gave Lyla a cheeky smile and shuffled nearer to the Shireling.

Lyla just frowned up at the dwarf, trying to ignore the truthfulness of his comparison.

“That’s hardly fair, you know,” she retorted heatedly, “You lot are hardly much taller than I am.”

Bofur ruffled her hair teasingly, “Aye lass, that’d be true, but we’re not going in after some giant furnace with wings are we?”

Furnace with wings?

Lyla swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“I don’t think yer helpin’ much there lad,” Oin remarked, his gaze drifting between the hobbit and the miner. “Best not talk of the dragon right now…”

But for some reason, Bofur was takin’ delight in this conversation and he waved the concerned doctor off. “Oh it’ll be nothin’. This lass here can handle anything. Lacerations…incineration…”

Lyla’s eyebrow twitched. “Incineration?! Are you suggesting that I’m going to die?”

Bofur only laughed some more and slung his arm around the confused hobbit. “Nah, nothin’ so terrible ‘s that! Just givin’ ye a description of the chiefest and greatest calamity of   
our age.” He turned and winked at Lyla, who was utterly flummoxed by the dwarf’s actions. “Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks…extremely fond of precious metals…”

WHY was he saying all this to her?!

Lyla closed her eyes trying to block out the growing panic. She was starting to feel a bit faint. Here they say at on the doorstep, so close to the dragon. 

It was all so real now. No longer just a dream or a story.

And did Bofur think he was being helpful by saying all those things? 

Was he really that DENSE?

A hand grasped her chin and Lyla’s eyes flew open in surprise and wariness. 

Bofur turned her face towards his own and brought their foreheads together, a soft smile on his face.

“Aye lass, it may be a scary thought to go after that monstrous beast. But, he’s got somethin’ coming that he’s never seen before. Ye’ll be just fine. Smaug doesn’t stand a chance against ye.”

Lyla’s brows knit together in confusion. Was he being serious? 

“All of this is hardly comforting,” she remarked pulling away. “I’m going to face a dragon. I’m not a hero, or a warrior…or even a burglar! How am I to do this?”

“Aye,” Bofur leaned away but tucked his hand inside her own, “A burglar or a warrior ye may not be, but yer a quick-witted thing. Ye’ll think of somethin’.” 

Lyla snorted in derision, but gave the dwarf’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

In his own strange way, the miner meant to bring her comfort. 

She snuggled into the crook of the dwarf’s arm, mindful of the little bird that still sat, perched and asleep on her shoulder and stared out into the valley, watching as the dwarves also began to settle down, with most sitting and staring around in awe, trepidation and confusion. 

Lyla caught the familiar mass of long dark ebony hair and the stern gaze of the dwarf king as he gaze about in frustration, his hands clenched into fists. When he noted her gaze upon him, the dwarf sat straighter, his eyes softening ever so slightly and a small smirk appearing on his lips. 

He gave a nod of his head towards her and Lyla felt a creeping heat warm up her neck.

But she returned the smile hesitantly. 

And then, the sun’s light burst forth from the clouds and bathed Lyla and the rest in a brilliant bright light. The hobbit, cringed and put a hand up to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness.

The little thrush on her shoulder chirped loudly in the hobbit’s ear and then twittered away in the flurry of movement, out into the open sky.

‘What could have possessed that creature to finally move? The sun?’ She thought in confusion.

Her confusion only heightened, however, when the thrush returned just as swiftly, something small and round captured in its beak and returned near Lyla, sitting on a small jagged piece of rock above the hobbit’s head. 

Lyla scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, when the bird started to knock, what she now recognized as a snail, against the side of the mountain.

She heard Balin’s intake of breath and felt the rest of the dwarves clamor around, watching the bird in rapt attention.

“Stand by the grey stone,” She whispered. By Aule this was happening…

“Where the thrush knocks,” Thorin’s rich voice was near her ear, “And the last light of Durin’s day will show the key hole.”

A large warm hand wrapped around hers, a thumb rubbing soft circles across her wrist, as the sun’s light slowly filtered down, setting below the horizon. 

And in a flash of brilliance, a small keyhole was illuminated before the wide-eyed audience of the company members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Comments are always welcome and appreciated.
> 
> And if you're interested, take a look at these lovely authors and their works: 
> 
> chappysmom: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> and 
> 
> Luckyhai5 with her fabulous au fem!bilbo work 'Good Morning':
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	52. Earthquake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door is opened and the fight begins.
> 
> Music for this chapter:
> 
> http://youtu.be/A76a_LNIYwE  
> http://youtu.be/sZTsxAQXWys  
> http://youtu.be/sQ9NOV3KNpY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's taken a little longer to get this chapter out. My internet has been awful and I wanted to piece this together well. I hope I did that and I hope that you understand where the story is heading.
> 
> But thank you for the comments and your support. You are all so lovely and I adore you.

Bard’s grip on his bow never loosened as they slunk towards Laketown. His gaze was wary as he peeked around, suspicious and terrified of being spotted. He would never forgive himself if carelessness lead to innocents losing their lives.

Especially children. 

He was certain that any sentries on patrol would know that Bard was supposed to be escorting the dwarves and their hobbit into the mountain. He had no reason to be heading towards Laketown.

And that would set the suspicious creatures on high alert. 

No. It was far better to remain hidden. 

And he supposed that they were fortunate that no one spotted them on their entry into the outer lying banks of the river near the town, though he figured that Legolas and keen-eyed companions had something to do with that. 

But as he gazed from the marshes towards the banquet hall, the sun setting lower into the sky, he knew that they could not remain hidden for long. Patrols would find the bodies of their comrades. The crows would more than likely report back to their master and the word would spread like wildfire. 

They had to hurry. 

“How many do you see?” He whispered to the elf prince, well aware that his eyesight was not comparison to that of Legolas.

“Eight at least. I cannot tell how many more are inside.” The golden-haired creature murmured lowly, his eyes narrowed and assessing, “It would appear that this master of your is no stranger to deceptive tactics.”

Bard wanted to snort. Of course The Master wasn’t easily fooled.

“Still, though, if Tauriel and the others arrive soon, we might be able to launch an attack without much clamor or chaos.”

Bard nodded his head in agreement. 

Clamor and chaos would certainly not be advisable at the moment. 

Of course, though, when evil has its sights set on you, it’s hard to shake them from detecting your presence. 

One of the Elven guards spied the bird too late. 

A mighty cry went up from its feathered throat, even as an arrow was dispatched to silence the winged creature. 

It was enough to cause a stir among the men.

“Go!” Legolas hissed lowly at his companions, “Shoot!”

Six elves rose, bows drawn, eyes narrowed.

The men of Rhun let out fierce cries and launched themselves forward.

Arrows sliced through the air and with deadly precision, embedded themselves beneath armor, sending the warrior men tumbling. 

Three fell in a flash.

But three more were advancing, this time with shields raised in a protective manner. 

The elves readied their arrows.

But Bard noticed the other two were not assisting their companions. Instead, one was pulling forth an object—a horn!

And the other was silently darting towards the banquet hall.

No!

“Legolas! Horn!” Bard thundered, charging from the marshes and towards the banquet hall drawing his own bow forth. 

He released an arrow with a loud *thwack*as the echoes of a solitary horn blast filled the air

*****

Thorin didn’t hesitate to insert the key—pulled from the folds of his great coat—into waiting keyhole as the last bright rays of the sun filtered past the faces of the company.   
The key slid in easily and with a slow turn, a lock clicked and an outline of a door appeared as Thorin pushed on the rock, making Lyla’s eyes widen. 

‘It all fit so seamlessly. How…?’

Slowly the dwarf pushed the door aside completely and a warm gust of stagnant, stuffy air, blasted into her face.

She half wondered how the door could be so silent having never been used before. 

Not that she wasn’t grateful, mind you. 

She stared into the darkened tunnel, her heart leaping into her throat as the musty smell of the mountain filled her nostrils.

No, she was indeed grateful that a door had not woken a dragon. 

A dragon!

She swallowed and clenched her fist. She was aware that eyes had turned to her, the company members staring at her unabashedly.

And she registered the low murmur sweeping through the lips of her companions. 

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight before her. 

They had finally reached it. 

They were at the door. 

And it was open and beckoning her forward. 

Into the darkness.

A low, numbing sensation tingled over her limbs and she felt detached but filled with trepidation at the same time.

It all seemed so surreal.

So unusual.

Yet here she stood.

‘And a lot of good standing is going to do you , Lyla Baggins.’ She internally scolded herself, trying to will her limbs to move. ‘The longer you stand here, the longer you are denying help to those children and to the dwarves. What good are you to anyone standing still as stone?’

No. That just would not do.

Steeling her courage, Lyla took a step forward, eyes narrowed and focused on the door. 

Now was as good a time as any, she supposed.

But a hand stopped her.

Lyla turned, blinking, to face her captor. 

Thorin Oakenshield, flanked by Dwalin and Bofur, all who wore identical expressions of concern.

“Wait.” Thorin murmured, trying to pull her back from the door, “You don’t have to do this.”

What?

“That’s absurd,” Lyla replied confusedly, “Isn’t that what I’m here to do?”

“No,” Thorin remarked with a frown, “I mean yes, but now…” He cleared his throat, “I just-you can’t-you shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Aye lass,” Dwalin remarked, “It’s a dangerous road yer going down. Are ye sure this is what ye want to do?”

The warrior dwarf fixed her with a quiet, contemplative gaze, his eyes devoid of anger or reproach, merely searching her face thoughtfully, his lips pulled into a small frown.

Did they not understand?

Surely they understood…

“Of course,” she murmured, gazing about. Fili and Kili were also close to her, their faces identical masks of surprise and….admiration?

‘Well that’s an odd thought,’ She mused, and then shook her head. 

She was imagining it.

And she needed to go face this dragon before she lost her nerve.

“I understand your concerns, but I did sign up for this. I am your burglar after all.” 

Her smile felt like a grimace on her face. She didn’t think anyone was WILLING to enter the dragon’s lair.

But she was determined. She had a duty to fulfill, and by Aule she was going to do it.

She shrugged from Thorin’s grip and stepped forward again. “It’s best. I have to do it.”

His grip returned and he yanked her backwards, closer to himself. 

“Wait Lyla, just,” He turned her to face himself and Lyla caught the intensity of his gaze. “Just...” He sighed in stepped backwards his eyes squeezing shut and his fists clenching, “By Mahal…”

Dwalin grasped Lyla’s shoulder and shifted her away from Thorin pulling her forehead against his own.

“Just be safe lassie,” He murmured, “And don’t do anything stupid.”

And then he nudged her forward towards the door again. 

Lyla felt her heart flutter in appreciation for Dwalin’s comforting confidence. 

But Thorin would have none of it. “She can’t go Dwalin. You-she…it’s unsafe.”

Dwalin turned to his friend and gave him a long thoughtful gaze, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Aye I know that, but she’s capable. Let’s give her a chance.”

“She can’t-“ his tone was soft but firm, conveying his frustration.

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed, “She can!” He growled, stepping forward, “I’ll not try and stop her either. I made that mistake once and I’ll not do it again.”

Thorin stilled, his face going slack and shoulders drooping as pain flashed in his eyes.

A long sigh escaped his lips and then turned back towards Lyla, his eyes dark, brooding and haunted.

He stepped towards her slowly and placed his hands on either side of her face and brought his own forehead down to hers slowly, his eye closing for the briefest of moments.  
Lyla’s heart sped up.

“Yes,” he murmured quietly, his warm breath washing over her cheeks, “I made that mistake too.”

Slowly he released her, his fingers rubbing across her cheeks as he gazed at her with a pained expression, “Just…be safe. Please.”

Lyla couldn’t speak. Her voice refuse to surface and her eyes felt moist. 

A warm sensation was on her cheeks.

But she managed to nod her head. 

Thorin gave a small smile and nodded his head in return. 

Ori came forward and pressed a small torch into her hands and gave her a soft smile of his own before scurrying back towards his brother. 

Lyla cast her eyes around at the dwarves, and even in the growing dark, most wore expressions of contrition and trepidation. She noted Fili’s and Kili’s eyes were saddened, but small smiles lit their faces.

“Good luck Mistress Boggins. May Mahal protect you.” Kili’s voice was pained but resolute as he spoke.

Lyla swallowed again and straightened, giving Kili another nod of her head.

It was now or never. 

She turned and, with a soft inhale of breath, stepped into the dark tunnel.

“Be safe,” Thorin’s low voice caressed her ears again as she disappeared into the inky blackness. 

*****

Thorin couldn’t understand the emotions coursing through his veins. 

He knew Dwalin was right. 

He couldn’t make the same mistake he made with Dis.

But, Lyla? She was…

He couldn’t bear the thought of her entering that cave alone. 

To face a dragon.

A dragon!

But what could he do?

A hand came to rest on his shoulder as he stared into the doorway, watching the soft flicker of torchlight slowly fade away. 

Thorin didn’t need to guess who it might be

“She’ll be alright Thorin,” Dwalin’s voice echoed in his ear.

But Thorin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the doorway. 

“You don’t know that,” He murmured, “None of us know that.”

He heard Dwalin sigh deeply as the large hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Aye, Lad, I do not. But I have hope. And faith in that little hobbit. She’s stronger than she looks. Let’s hold onto that, aye?”

Thorin nodded his head absently, but did not reply. Fear pricked at his heart, the memories of Moria still far too fresh in his mind. 

‘Be safe’ he thought again silently, ‘Please be safe.’

*****

He was walking slowly along the corridors of the city, in the company of The Master and his insufferable expulsions of praise and wonder, when Thranduil’s ears picked up the sound of the horn. 

It was almost a welcome relief from the tedium and annoyance of The Master’s voice.

Almost. 

Instantly his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword hidden beneath the folds of his cloak.

He watched as realization dawned on the men’s faces and as they scrambled or their weapons, eyes narrowing at the elves.

“They’ve tricked us!” one man hissed, his bloodshot eyes narrowed as he pointed his sword towards Thranduil.

The elf just cocked his eyes brow and gazed back at the man, his lips pulled into a thin line.

But The Master did not appear ruffled by this panicked declaration from his guards. 

No, he’d started laughing instead. 

“You think that I did not know that?” He chortled, his round face reddened in mirth, “Of course I KNEW that hobbit couldn’t be trusted! Slimy little sniveling rat that she is. And you, to think that I was so easily deceived? Ha!”

He turned his beady eyes on Thranduil, his brows raised in challenge, “Tell me then, great king of Mirkwood,” he sneered the name, “Did you really think that I would believe your ruse?”

Thranduil snorted and then smirked at The Master, “Indeed I did not.” He remarked lowly, “I knew that your guards would believe me however, and that’s all that I needed.”  
Chaos exploded around the elf king as he drew his sword, One of the guards came towards him even as The Master scuttled backwards his eyes widened.

Apparently the man had not considered that his attackers would be aware of his suspicions. 

The king of Mirkwood deftly sidestepped the lumbering man and with a quick jut of the hilt of his sword, knocked the man into the water. 

His guards charged the other men who hand their weapons brandished and were snarling and careening, headlong into battle. 

But the elf king had his eye set on The Master who was stumbling backwards calling up to the rooftops.

“Shoot them! And secure the hall! Don’t let them break it down!”

A few paltry arrows were shot towards Thranduil, but his own archers had been ready and waiting for their chance.

Apparently Gandalf’s plan was working.

He heard splashes of water as them were felled, their bodies dropping into the water like stones in the river. 

He continued towards the fat, stumbling man, a scowl on his face, his eyes narrowed. His mind was clear, his understanding of justice precise. He knew that his earlier actions and accusations and declarations of flippant disregard for the welfare of the people of Laketown were planted in his mind by the same wicked seed that was overrunning his kingdom.  
Had he not chastised Thorin Oakenshield for showing no compassion on the people of Esgaroth with his foolhardy quest? 

No. 

No more of this. 

His frown deepened as the battled raged on around him, but his eyes were locked on the sniveling fat man who was tumbling and tripping, trying to get away.

*****

The men were pouring from the banquet hall, and from across the bridge. 

Bard dodged one man and stuck another with his knife as he gazed about, noting the runners along the rooftops, their bows drawn.  
This was bad. 

He twisted again as another man launched himself at the bowman, his fist catching Bard in the jaw, sending him sideways.

But he was quick to recover, sending a mighty kick into the man’s knee, a small ‘snapping’ sound and a howl from his attacker assured Bard that he had broken the man’s kneecap. 

But another was atop him before he could blink, a jagged knife slicing into his arm, causing the bowman to wince and twist. He grabbed ahold of the man’s wrist and arched upwards, slamming his head into his assailant’s, knocking the man temporarily senseless. 

Long enough to allow him to rise. 

He pulled out an arrow and his bow and released on into the next man that charged at him.

And again at the next man that made a move. 

But Aule help him, he needed to get inside, though no matter what he did, men crowded towards him

There were too many of them. 

The elves were scattered around, as men clamored after them, their weapons drawn. 

He punched another man in the face. And then pulled an arrow from his holder and sent it soaring into a man's chest.  
Where was Tauriel?

And Gandalf?

They needed help.

HE needed to get inside the banquet hall.

*****

The tunnel wasn’t as long as Lyla had expected.

Or hoped.

Soon, the musty, narrow channel opened into a wider room with an alcove off to the side. And beyond that it widened even more. 

Lyla caught snatches of flicker light and a warmth washed over her, heating up her face and producing sweat at her hairline.

She was close.

Hesitantly, she set the torch down in the alcove, where its soft light would not be noticed, and where it would be safe (hopefully). 

She edged her way closer to the wide opening, her heart hammering. She noticed, coming to the edge of the opening that a few stray coins had landed at the edge of this hidden room. A small incline led upwards into what she assumed was the treasure room. She crouched low and slowly crawled up the walkway, her eyes darting about wildly. 

Lyla bit back a gasp of astonishment at the sight the greeted her. The soft light was coming from the stone walls themselves. An intricate swirl of greens, grey, and white, the stone stretched upwards, high into the ceiling, forming the pillars and walkways. These stones seemed to exude an iridescent light of its own, bathing the cavern in something akin to soft moonlight. 

And beneath this soft lighting, mountains of gold twinkled like stars, their shine taking Lyla’s breath away. She hadn’t expected treasure to be so beautiful. But here, now, in this setting, it almost reminded her of many nights sitting out under the stars, watching the shift of the heavenly atmosphere revolve around in the sky. 

It was spectacular. 

But there was no dragon, much to Lyla’s curiosity. 

Where could it be?

She raised her head a little higher, peeking past one of the small dunes of gold.

She shoved her fist in her mouth to bite back the scream of surprise. 

There, in front of her and not fifty feet from where she crouched, a large, scaled beast lay sleeping. His long snout curved in a sinister way, his warm breath making is unbearable hot.

Smaug’s head was turned to the side, exposing the underside of his neck and his chest, his massive clawed front legs resting one atop the other.

But, most of his body was buried beneath piles of gold and jewels.

But something caught her eye and she edge closer to get a better look.

Perhaps…

Her hand knocked a large golden goblet off the small pile of gold she was slowly crawling up, sending a soft tinkling of coins clattering downwards, towards the entry into the doorway.

Lyla grasped the cup before it could fall and ducked away, her heartbeat reverberating in her ears as she heard a loud snort of air escape the massive beast.

Oh no.

A living, breathing dragon lay before her.

And she had dropped a cup. 

‘Oh you fool of a Took.’

She needed to leave.

A low rumbled started to echo through the mountain, growing steadily louder as Lyla slid back down and scrambled away from the gold, away from the dragon, her eyes wide.  
The rumbling grew, deafeningly loud as Lyla darted down the walkway, scrambling to grab hold of her torch.

“THIEF!” The dragon’s roar pierced her ears, “THIEF! FIRE! MURDER! I WILL FIND YOU!”

The whole mountain shook as she sprinted down the walkway and towards the door. 

*****

Thorin stopped pacing when the mountain started to shake.

The hairs on the back o his neck rose and his eyes widened.

“Was that an earthquake?” Dwalin ventured, his brows knit in confusion.

Balin shook his head lightly, his face pulled into a worried scowl.

“That, my lad,” he remarked lowly, “Was a dragon.”

Thorin turned towards the doorway, his heart filling with dread.

Oh Mahal, what had she done?

*****  
Thranduil’s movements stopped and he gazed upwards as the ground shook lightly beneath his feet. 

Everyone had stilled for a moment, straining and listening.

Suspicion lanced through the elf king.

He hoped that it wasn’t…

The shaking grew louder and a might roar filled the air.

His eyes narrowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, what did you think? Did you like it? Any thoughts on what's going to happen next? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> And check out these lovely people with their amazing works:
> 
> chappysmom and ALL her work
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> And the lovely Luckyhai5 and her au fem!bilbo work 'Good Morning'
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	53. Unleashed and Released

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dragon flies high, a people fight, and a company hides away...
> 
> Music for this chapter:
> 
> http://youtu.be/F-4wUfZD6oc  
> http://youtu.be/2jJnyyta07k  
> http://youtu.be/E5_xb522jEo  
> http://youtu.be/h2SXKI3m14s  
> http://youtu.be/AkVRIsqg0kY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient with this chapter. It took a little time to get it pieced together, but I hope you'll enjoy it! Thank you for all the bookmarks, the kudos and the comments! You are all lovely people and I hope that this chapter was worth the wait.

The mountain shook as Lyla darted further from the treasure and the dragon, her heart racing.

‘Not far enough’ she thought dismayed, ‘Not nearly far enough.’

She could hear the echoing roars behind her, making her feel as though something were chasing her.

And though she didn’t think it very likely to be true, Lyla hazarded a glance behind her to reassure herself that nothing was, in fact, following her. 

And nothing was.

But another powerful rumble sent the hobbit tripping through the doorway with a cry of surprise.

She stumbled with an ‘oomph’ into someone’s arms, her nose squished against a broad chest, the both of them tumbling down, the torch and goblet flying from her grip. 

The mountain shook again and Lyla squeezed her eyes shut, wincing at the noises the rocks made. 

“Lyla, what in Durin’s name did you do?!”

The hobbit’s eye shot open and she realized, with embarrassment, that it had been Thorin who had cushioned her fall. 

And it was Thorin who was peering at her, his eyes wide with curiosity and worry. 

“I…I…”

“THIEF!” 

The roar had her stiffening, eyes going wide. 

Someone was pulling her to her feet as Thorin rolled to his side and rose as the mountain shook again.

“By Mahal,” Balin whispered, and Lyla looked up to see that the white-haired dwarf’s gaze was turned outward, his head tilted up towards the sky.

Lyla’s heart stopped. 

“THIEF!” 

She heard the roar again as the giant silhouette of a dragon darted through the clouds.

Eru help her, it was searching for them.

‘Some burglar!’ she thought dourly, fear lacing up her spine at the image before her. 

“Move!” Thorin shouted, “Into the cave! NOW!”

He wrapped his hand around her arm and all but dragged the stunned hobbit back into the tunnel, the other dwarves clamoring behind them. 

“Get the door shut!” Dwalin shouted ushering the rest behind him, “Dori help me with it!”

*****  
Thranduil stared at the sky, watching the massive red beast sail through clouds, flame spewing form it’s massive jaws as a roar of fury shot through the air. 

And while the beast was still at a safe distance from Esgaroth, the elf king winced as his sensitive ears picked up the growing fury in the dragon’s timbre. 

Stealth had, clearly, not worked for the dwarves and their hobbit companion. 

‘Unsurprisingly’ He thought derisively. ‘And Gandalf had such faith in them’

And now the fury of the dragon had been unleashed.

They had to evacuate the city. 

“Retreat!” he called quietly to his guardsmen, “Retreat to the woodlands. Get everyone out. Now.”

His guards did not hesitate to follow orders. They quickly dispatched their weapons, catching the men off guard, and retreated back towards the outskirts of the city, their eyes darting to rooftops and their swords contending against the now startled men gazing up at the sky.

Some of the others were shouting, pounding on doors and calling to the city folk inside.

“We need to leave!” they shouted at windows, “Evacuate the city! The dragon approaches.”

Thranduil cast a glance back at The Master who was still cowering on the ground his gaze turned upward.

But what surprised him was the smile on his face. 

And then the pudgy man started to chuckle.

“I see that Smaug the Terrible is alive after all,” he murmured lowly, “That little creature has awoken the beast.”

The man turned back towards Thranduil, “And I see that you are no longer held by the power of your forest home. You would risk your welfare to save these MEN?” He sneered at the thought, “All to help dwarves. I had always supposed they were your enemy.”

Thranduil snorted, but remained silent, his face still and devoid of emotion.

That didn’t deter The Master from speaking though, as his gaze shifted back towards the sky, where the roars were growing in frequency. 

“You will not get them out.” The Master retorted with a glare at the elf king. “Your plan was a foolish one. I was prepared for an attack. I knew that hobbit was not to be trusted.  
You think I was so unprepared?”

The man started to laugh lightly.

“But it matters not. This city is a worthless pile of floating wood. What care I for it or its people?”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes, his own gaze darting between the fat man who was slowly rising to his feet, the dragon circling in the sky and the buildings surrounding them.

His companions were watching the exchange warily, but continuing to call into the houses, commanding that the towns people evacuate. 

But no one had emerged. 

‘Ah. Of course.’

“You’ve trapped them all,” He murmured stepping towards the man, the grip on his sword tight, his lips pulled into a frown. “You condemn them to die.”  
He absently noted that the scuffling had resumed, though the dragon still roared in the sky. 

The Master chuckled again but took a step backwards, his eyes betraying the slight panic coursing through his veins. 

Thranduil quirked his eyebrow at the man, noting the sweat beading on the round face and the flushed cheeks.

“Well, I shall remedy that. We will get those people out,” he took another step forward towards the man shuffling awkwardly backwards. 

The elf king appraised the rounded cheeks, the brightly colored clothing and the gaudy jewelry with disdain as he raised his sword upwards.

*****

A roar.

Confused murmurs surrounded Bard as many of the men surrounding the banquet hall stilled, their gazes turning upward.

“Dragon!” one called pointed, “It’s the dragon!”

Bard stopped only a moment to glance at the sky. 

Sure enough he could see the outline dark spot shifting through the clouds and sky, though it was still a distance away, staying relatively close to the Lonely Mountain. 

The dragon.

Gandalf had warned that this would happen.

And while it filled him trepidation to see that massive beast, to hear the echoing roar pierce the sky, it also presented him with an opportunity. 

He shoved his way past the men, still distracted calling for aid as he neared the hall doors.

“Legolas!” 

Some of the men regained their senses and blocked the bowman’s way, their swords drawn as he dodged their blows and caught one man in the throat with his arm and another in the chest with an arrow. 

The fighting resumed full force as the men of Rhun pulled themselves from their stupor, guttural cries of rage escaping their lungs. 

“Bard!” Legolas’ soft cry filled the air, “Behind you!”

The man turned too late to find an archer aiming for him. 

He did have time to twist to the side as the man’s arrow was released. It missed his chest (the intended target) and only grazed his arm.

But then an entirely different sound filled the air and a crashing echoed in the trees, their branches swaying as something approached 

Even Bard stilled, eyes going wide.

A massive black shape broke the tree line.

Followed by a tall man clad entirely in grey, a staff clutched in one hand a powerful sword in the other. 

It took Bard a moment to realize that it was Gandalf who had charged forth.

The large bear proved to be rather distracting. 

Though he didn’t complain when that bear charged forward, snarls of rage escaping its large mouth, its paws swinging forth, catching many of the men in its sharp smack. 

“Confound it all, Bard!” Gandalf exclaim giving another man a sound ‘thwack’ over his head, “Move!”

The bowman blinked and nodded his head, shoving past the men as the elves finally came together, the bear taking on the slew of men nearest the tree line. 

Cries of surprise, outrage and fear swept through the men as the elves and Bard pushed their way towards the door, the elven guard gracefully weaving through the clamoring, growling men, their weapons piercing flesh with deadly precision. 

Bard slid through an opening of limbs and rammed his shoulder into one of the doors, smashing men against the side of the building with the heavy wood. 

And then he pushed forward, knocking another man down, sending two others stumbling.

And elven arrows rained down as the group pressed their way forward into the building. 

Once inside the building, Bard noted that there were far more people than they had anticipated. 

The townsfolk sat at the large tables, their hands bound, as they stared at the proceedings, their eyes wild with panic. 

“You have to run!” cried Bard to the people, whose eyes sparked with recognition as they spied in among the fray, “The dragon flies high! You must make for the trees! Go!”

But the citizens didn’t move, their faces were contorted into looks of shocked resignation.

Resignation?

Why?

A sharp pain, caused the bowman to turn his attentions back to the fight. He noted, with annoyance, that one of the corrupted guardsmen had landed a lucky swipe at his shoulder. 

Bard’s eyes narrowed and fury filled him. He would not let them give up.

Not now. Not when they were so close!

“FIGHT!” He roared, barreling into another man, inching ever closer to the back of the room, towards the doorway that lead downward towards the children. 

A loud snarling bear growl filled the room and Bard registered the splintering of wood and cries of surprise as the men suddenly scattered, dodging the fury of a bear.

He heard women scream and men cry in surprise.

“Run!” He shouted again, glancing backwards, at the townspeople, “Run! To the trees!”

“Do as he says!” Gandalf’s voice erupted over the chaotic clamoring and cries, “Quickly! Up! Run!” 

Bard didn’t wait to see if the people moved. Instead he headed towards the door and down the corridor leading downwards into the dark.

“We are with you,” Legolas’ voice floated in his ear as he maneuvered slowly, silently down the narrow hall, his mind growing ever more angry and spiteful as the memories flashed of his last decent.

He heart heavy footfalls and the low cursings of the men as they made their way upwards.

The grip on his sword tightened and he prepared for battle.

Four wary, panicked, but determined guardsmen charged upwards at the bowman and his companions, their cries of fury tempered with the worry of the cries blasting above them.

Cries of pain.

Cries of a dragon.

Cries of an enraged bear, smashing and crushing anything in its path.

Bard swept his leg, catching the knees of the first man, sending the surprised guardsman stumbling and tipping backwards. 

And arrow, precisely aimed, rocked the man completely off balance as it pierced his chest, forcing a grunt of pain from the startled man’s lips.

His knees buckled completely and he fell backwards, catching the others in his fall. 

And Bard and Legolas charged downward, a giddy excitement sweeping through the man’s veins as he passed over the struggling men and turned to see the wide, dark, musty cave, bathed in soft torchlight. 

And the wide-eyed, smudged faces of the children huddled together in fear. 

Relief poured down upon him and he gave a soft sigh of praise to the powers that had brought him to this point. 

And for that briefest of moments, Bard wouldn’t worry about what was to come, or the dragon looming overhead. 

The children were safe.

He would bask in that feeling. 

*****

The dwarves and their hobbit, waited, peering out the small sliver of doorway not obstructed by the door itself, as they gazed at the circling monster whose cries filled the air, the fury evident.

Each time she heard the word ‘thief’ soar through the air, Lyla cringed, and squeezed her eyes shut, willing her hammering heart to cease. 

This was her fault. She’d gotten too curious and careless. 

What if the beast planned an attack on Laketown? 

All those innocent people.

“How far does this tunnel go before it reaches the throne room?” Thorin’s voice was next to her ear, his tone strained but gentle.

“Uh…about two hundred feet?” She mumbled, her voice coming out more like a question than a statement. “But, ah, there’s an alcove of sorts about thirty feet from the entrance to the throne room.

She heard him sigh and felt the soft warm breath tickle her ear.

His fingers brushed against her own.

“That will have to do then,” He huffed thoughtfully, “Much better than risking entering the throne room anyway. Let’s get the torches lit and head inward. I have a feeling that Smaug won’t be abating from his search anytime soon.”

Lyla cringed again and watched silently as two glowing balls of flame brightened the dark tunnel. Lyla noted the grim, yet curious gazes of the company members as they took in their surroundings.

She supposed that most of them had never actually been inside of Erebor before. And certainly NONE of them had ever seen this tunnel. It was a new experience for all of them.  
But while they gazed around, eyes assessing and faces contorted into looks of contemplation, their looks strayed back towards the door and the dragon circling the mountain, its cries muffled but ever-present.

Thorin pulled away from Lyla’s side to retrieve one of the torches that Balin held and Lyla felt the loss immediately. The warmth was gone and her fingers twitched at that knowledge. 

She wished that he would return. His presence brought her comfort. 

Instead, though, he grasped the torch and maneuvered past the others and towards the head of the line heading further into the tunnel. 

“Lass,” Bofur whispered coming to stand next to her, draping a careful arm around her shoulder as some of the others passed them by, “What did you do to that creature to rile it up so bad?” 

He smiled down at the hobbit who stiffened and cringed.

“I-uh…knocked over…that…er, cup.”

She felt the heat rising on her cheeks and her gaze flittered to the floor in embarrassment. 

It was all rather humiliating and aggravating.

“This tiny thing?” Nori exclaimed lifting the cup from the folds of his coat pockets. The gold caught the firelight’s glow and a lovely glint sparkled in Lyla’s eyes. “THAT woke the dragon?”

Lyla nodded with another cringe.

“Yes,” She sighed dejectedly.

Yes indeed THAT had woken the dragon.

And she was a foolish Took of a Hobbit for even thinking she stood a chance of not awakening a giant brute like that. 

Balin surprised her, though, by chuckling.

WHY was he chuckling?

“Aye lass, take heart,” he remarked coming near her as they walked down the corridor, “All the books in the world won’t tell you that dragons are fickle creatures with great senses. Especially when it comes to treasure. Anything would have set that beast off, rest assured.”

He squeezed her elbow affectionately, his eyes crinkled and twinkling, his lips turned up into a soft grin.

“Just be glad that you managed to escape before he caught you! That’s a talent, right there.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Gloin's low gruff grumbles echoed around the hall, “I can’t be that stealthy.”

Nori sniggered, “Probably would have been eaten before you realized there was dragon in the room.”

The thief turned back and winked at Lyla.

“Don’t worry yer head about it Lass. We’ll get it sorted, ye’ll see.” Bofur’s cheerful murmurs tickled her ear as his hand came to rest on her shoulder. “At least we know he’s alive then, aye?” 

Lyla snorted but nodded her head in silent agreement. Yes, she supposed it was good to know that the fire-breathing menace was still alive.

Though she didn’t know why they weren’t as miffed or upset about the turn of events as she was.

On the one hand, she was grateful for the comfort the others were obviously trying to give her.

On the other hand, she thought they were all nuts. 

They SHOULD care about this. What were they going to do with a monster patrolling the skies, possibly destroying the city on the lake?

They should be more upset about this.

Aule knows that SHE was. 

As the rest of the company squeezed into the small alcove, Lyla elected to sit in the hall across from them, though the others protested. 

But Lyla wouldn’t be swayed. Even by Bofur's kind persuasions. 

“I’ll just be right here. There’s more room out here for me anyway,” she retorted shuffling down to the ground and pulling her knees up to her chest in a comforting motion.  
Mainly she wanted a bit of distance to think and sort through everything, to figure out what she could do about this whole mess. 

And while she appreciated their affectionate sentiment, she needed to look at things practically. 

She’d awoken the dragon. And she needed to fix it.

“You shouldn’t think so viciously,” Fili’s voice made her jump as he sat down with a huff next to her, “I see the angry on your face. Give yourself some credit.”

Lyla sighed. “I appreciate the sentiment, really I do, but-“

“But what?” Fili murmured softly fixing Lyla with a firm gaze, “You’ve worked hard to gain our good opinion and then when we offer it, you scuttle away like some frightened animal. It will not do.”

A pang of guilt washed through Lyla and she lowered her gaze.

“I’m sorry if I appear ungrateful,” she whispered at the rocky ground, “I just—“

Fili placed a finger to her lips and gave her shoulder a little nudge with his own, “You need to just let it all go and move on. What’s done is done. Don’t carry that weight with you. Whatever happens you’ve done your best, no one asks more of you than that dear sister.”

Sister? 

Yes. She liked that. 

Leaning his head to the side, the blonde dwarf rested his head against the side of her own and moved his hands from her lip to lace his fingers through her own, giving her hand a small squeeze.

“You know he was right,” Fili remarked lightly with a chuckle.

Lyla’s brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced sideways at the massive of blonde braids obscuring her view of Fili’s face, “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, that he was right about you.” Fili commented, “You ARE a lot like my mother. Same spirit and stubbornness…and compassion.”

He gave her hand another squeeze before releasing his grip and moving his head.

“Just relax and don’t feel guilt for something that wasn’t your fault.” The dwarf gave her a winning smile before rising and stepping back down the hall, towards the alcove.He passed by Thorin who stood, watching Lyla carefully, his eyes hooded and unreadable, but a small frown on his face. His gaze shifted between his nephew and Lyla’s crouched form.

And then his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Burglar,” He murmured taking a step towards her, “Come with me.”

With a sigh Lyla clamored to her feet, and stood facing the dwarf king, assessing his expressions, trying to see into his mind.

Fili turned back and gave her a grin, his teeth flashing, eyes glittering in amusement.

But she felt her heart plummet, when she noted his frown deepening as he gazed at her.

No. This was NOT amusing. 

“Come,” he remarked again, ignoring his nephew and extending his hand towards her. “Let’s return to the door and take watch.”

“Uh…alright…”

She stepped forward and Thorin grabbed hold of her arm and slowly moved back down the tunnel, one of the torches still in his grasp. 

They walked in silence, Lyla’s heart hammering harder with each step. 

What would he say to her?

Was he angry?

Oh Aule, she didn’t know what to expect!

Her stomach knotted when she noticed the outline of the door, the soft torchlight casting shadows.

And the roars of the dragon still circling outside the mountain.

Her heart dropped when Thorin released his grip and stepped away from her, his back to her as he stared at the doorway.

A soft sigh escaped his lips.

And Lyla's silence dissolved.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted, cringing and wrapping her hand around her other arm, shuffling her feet awkwardly.

Thorin turned to gaze at her, his brows knit in confusion and surprise. “What are you—“

“No. I’m so sorry! Please, I didn’t mean to and I feel horrible about it. Smaug just right there and I didn’t see the cup—“

“What? No Lyla stop.” He back towards her and grabbed her shoulders, “Just stop. Don’t apologize.”

“I know that you are probably mad and—“ Lyla blinked.

Wait, what?

Thorin smiled lightly at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Oh, Aule that was a lovely sight.

“Don’t apologize my dear.” He hushed her again, “You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

Was he daft? Of course she did!

“But the dragon. I woke that dragon up and now it’s flying about the mountain searching for us!”

Thorin sighed, but the smile never left his lips, “Yes, that’s true. But if you recall what Gloin and Nori and Balin said, you should realize that it would have happened regardless. That’s not completely your fault.”

“But what about Laketown? What if the dragon goes there and…oh Aule those children! And the citizens…”

“Now, stop. Just stop. I heard what Fili said to you and I’ll repeat the same thing. You can’t carry this guilt. I will not allow it.” He gave her a firm, unquestioning look, “Just trust us as we trust you. Take comfort in the company’s reassurances and understand that you aren’t responsible for the dragon’s actions.”

“But I set that beast out there!” She cried, “I could’ve been more careful! I could have done something better. I SHOULD have done something better.”

‘Fool of a Took.’

Thorin gave her a light shake glaring at her, “By Durin’s beard you’re a stubborn one! Just be quiet a moment!”

“But I—the dragon! I couldn’t live with myself if the town is—“

And then something happened that she did not expect.

Soft warms lips descended upon her own, cutting of her ranting with a squeak of surprise. 

Oh! 

Her eyes widened and she stiffened, every detail burning into her memory. The soft warm lips gently covering her own, caressing them gently. The soft, tickling scratches of a beard washed over her cheeks. Thorin’s nose was nuzzled next to her own and she felt the silky tendrils of his hair brushing by her ears. 

Oh my.

A pleasant, bubbling warmth lanced her heart and spread outwards, winding around each tendril of her being, her muscles, her bones, around her eyelashes and each curling hair atop her head. Everything was enveloped in this cascading, beautiful feeling. And her senses drowned in the deliciousness of it all.

Aule, this changed things. 

She felt the heat rise on her cheeks as Thorin slowly pulled back, his warm, sweet breath blasting her face as he sighed.

She stared, at a loss for words, into the dwarf king’s eyes, her mouth parted in surprise.

Thorin’s blue orbs glittered brightly as he stared back a soft smile on his face.

“Just be still for a moment dear one and let me speak.” He nuzzled his nose next to her cheek and rested his forehead against hers as he continued to peer into Lyla’s eyes. “I did not come here to chastise you for your actions.” 

His eyes looked pained at that comment and he pulled away slightly, his lips pulling into a frown.

“Though I do understand why you’d suspect as much.” 

He sighed and smiled again, rubbing her arms lightly.

“I will build your trust. I promise you that, but just know that I did not intend to frighten you. I brought you here to makes sure you were alright and to…thank you.”

“What?” Lyla squeaked in a whisper, finally finding her voice (somewhat). But her mind was in a muddled haze of swirling emotions. She couldn’t sort through everything.

Why did he want to thank her?

“Yes I wanted to thank you.” Thorin swallowed and his gaze shifted away from her own as an unknown emotion clouded his features, “I-I’ve not been this close to my home in so many years. And I didn’t think I’d even get here. But you,” His eyes shot up and he smiled at her, “You never gave up. You never stopped…even when I tried to drive you away, when I doubted you, when we faced so much. You never doubted that we could do this.”

“That’s not…entirely true,” she murmured in reply, “I’ve just been lucky.”

Thorin snorted, “No. Not lucky. Fate is with you. And WE are lucky to have you in this company.”

And then he stepped closer, resting his forehead against hers again, “I am lucky to have you in this company. And I…” he swallowed again his eyes darkening as he gazed at her.  


Lyla’s heart was pounding wildly in her chest, the warmth in her cheeks intensifying.

Her mouth had gone dry.

“I wish…I wish I could convey the depth of my emotions. I don’t understand them fully, but I wish…I wish you knew how dear you are to me and how…”

Thorin sighed again and stilled.

“How much I care for you, dear Givashel.”

Slowly, achingly slowly, his hand came up to brush the back of her neck and curved towards her cheek. She felt the tiny pressure from each finger as he tilted her head ever so slightly, his thumb massaging her cheek as he brought his lips down towards hers once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it happened. IT finally happened. Among other things anyway. 
> 
> And I confess that I'm curious to see your response to the chapter. I'd love to know your feelings and thoughts on everything. 
> 
> And check out these lovely authors while your at it, if you want! They're lovely:
> 
> chappysmom with her amazing Sherlock works. They're ALL amazing:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> And Luckyhai5's Au fem!bilbo work 'Good Morning'. It's a wonderful story:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	54. Treasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all treasure is silver and gold...and some are...
> 
> Music for this chapter:
> 
> http://youtu.be/1xvFTMfziEQ  
> http://youtu.be/D4oH3Fx3d2g  
> http://youtu.be/_3BzMbPLr_Q

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for it taking far longer to post this chapter than I anticipated. Merely speaking, the chapter just grew in volume and a ton of. stuff was going on. We're at 5,000 words for this portion alone! And I've split it into two different parts. I had thought of splitting the chapter you have right here into two smaller parts as well, but figured I'd not be that cruel.
> 
> I hope you like the new chapter and I hope to have another update for something in the near future. 
> 
> Enjoy!

‘CRACK’

Thranduil’s brow twitched ever so slightly as the hilt of his sword connected with the side of The Master’s jaw sending the stumbling. And with a quick thrust of his leg, 

Thranduil’s foot connected with the man’s kneecap sending the howling creature stuttering, spluttering backwards into the frigid water. 

He felt a sort of dark satisfaction at watching the man splash and struggle, coughing and gurgling in the cold water as he tried to keep his head buoyant. The Master’s eyes were wild, his movements erratic, arms splashing about wildly. 

Clearly, he did not know how to swim.

‘Cruelest of ironies’ Thranduil thought drily, peering down at the gasping man, his lips upturned into a thin smirk, ‘And what a fitting end that would be.’

But even he was not so cruel.

No. Justice would be served, but not like this. There were others, who deserved to see the demise of so foul a creature (though only after he had been questioned). 

“Get him out of there,” He murmured lowly, stepping back from the splashing water and sheathing his sword again. “And bind his hands. There will be a city of people anxious to meet this betrayer.”

*****

The bear’s viciousness—coupled with the giant fire-breathing menace patrolling the skies—seemed to sap the fight from most of the guardsmen. They scattered and fled thought he doors of the banquet hall, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the creature. 

Gandalf only stood by and chuckled as the men scattered like the dust on a windy day. 

The townspeople remained still as stone, their eyes wide with fright and shock as they gazed at the massive black bear that peered back at them, standing firmly between their long table and the retreating men, guarding them. 

Protecting them.

Gandalf’s chuckles ceased at he gave a kind smile to Beorn for his services.

But his eyes continually drifted towards he back doorway where Bard and Legolas and a few other guards had retreated. 

“Let this not be for nothing,” he whispered to himself, his eyes wearied with the stress. “Let them have succeeded.”

His eyes swept back over to the towns people who were slowly beginning to stand on their feet as the last of the guardsmen departed the building. The wizard noted the dark sallow cheeks, the thin cracked lips.

But also the spark of hope that had ignited in their features, sending a warm glow shining in their eyes. 

“You must leave,” He instructed kindly, but firmly. “Make for the trees. The dragon flies high and we know not if he will attack!”

A small woman with limp brown hair and overly large green eyes stepped hesitantly forward, her shoulders pushing back as he came to stand in front of the group. 

Her eyes were blazing even as her tiny frame shook from exhaustion and malnourishment.

“We’ll not leave our children.” She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

But the words rang clear in the wizard’s ear and her eyes never lost their determined fury.

The wizard understood. He understood he determine resilience of a mother.

He understood that power quite well. 

And then the woman’s eyes suddenly widened and with a small cry she stumbled past the wizard as many of the other citizens leapt to their feet, excited whispers rising in the air.

Gandalf turned his gaze back towards the doorway a smile on his face as one after the other, dirty smudged faces of children emerged, their eyes squinting at the sudden change in light, but the brightest of smiles on their faces.

Suddenly, it was as if a dam had burst. Cries rose up from the thin silent lips of the townspeople as they rushed forward, arms encircling tiny shoulders, tears washing over mops of dirty hair. 

But while the reunion certain warranted a long winded expulsion of tears and joyous cries, Gandalf’s worry was piqued. 

There was still the dragon to contend with. 

“We need to move,” He murmured to Beorn, as the massive black bear came to stand silently beside the grey wizard. “We must not linger.”

Legolas’ lithe form appeared through the doorway followed closely by Bard’s, who carried a small shivering girl in his arms, his brown eyes darting around in wonderment.

But trepidation loomed beneath the surface. Even Gandalf could see that. 

The bowman and the elf caught the wizard’s gaze and in that moment Gandalf knew they shared the same sentiment. Soft roars of anger still echoed overhead, no matter how muffled they were by the interior of the building.

They needed to move. 

“Come!” cried Bard, stepping forward, into the fray, “We have to move! A dragon still flies high. We MUST make for the cover of the forest. Quickly!”

“You may seek refuge within the halls of my father’s kingdom for the time being,” Legolas regaled to the silencing crowd, the parents who clutched their children tightly. “You will be safe there, that I can promise.”

“But you must go now, people of Esgaroth!” Gandalf spoke up, his voice carrying over the hushed figures congregated together. “We must move before the enemy notices.”

“I’m afraid that might be too late Mithrandir” A deep and tired voice tickled Gandalf’s ear and he turned with wide eyes to the door.

Thranduil, king of the woodland real stood proudly in the doorway, swaying lightly in the breeze, a small cut upon his cheek and normally pristine clothing smeared with dirt and grime.

But his blue eyes glittered dangerously and a raw power emanated from their orb commanding and demanding attention.

He looked regal and powerful. 

“What do you mean?” Gandalf remarked confused his brows furrowing. “I do not hear the sounds of the dragon getting louder. He patrols his mountain searching for the disturbance.”

‘Searching for the hobbit no doubt.’ He surmised. 

Thranduil gave a small nod of his head in deference to Gandalf’s assertions. “It is true, Mithrandir, that the dragon does not pursue us yet. However, it is not of the dragon that I speak. The men of Rhun have retreated and with them dozens of crows. Whichever enemy they are in league with will know of our plans shortly.”

“Then we must move,” Bard remarked, giving a slight bow of his head towards Thranduil, “This town is indebted to your kindness master elf and we appreciate your shelter from this onslaught.”

‘We have been peaceable tradesmen for many years Bard son of Brand and my people pledged an allegiance to protect you against harm. And we will see it done. Though, perhaps, you’d wish for a small token of goodwill and reassurance on that score.”

Gandalf watched with interest as the elf king stepped away from the door, gesturing to the side with his hand.

A round man, greasy blonde hair disheveled and flopping around his ears, stumbling forward and crashed to his knees. His hands were bound with a long rope acting as a leash extending from the knot around his wrists. Dark beady eyes gaze around in alarm, and cheeks were red from exertion.

Here knelt The Master of Laketown, mouth gagged and sweat trickling down his brow. 

“Token of goodwill indeed.” The wizard mumbled eyeing the proceedings and the visible shift in the atmosphere of the.

The fury was so tangible that the wizard imagined himself stretching forth his hand and plucking a few droplets of it from the air around him.

“You.” Bard’s voice rang out, his rage evident in the narrowed eyes and firm grip upon his sword, “You sniveling, cowardly betrayer!”

He stepped forward, eyes burning with hatred.

“You would have had these people begging at your feet for mercy for their children. You heartless wretched creature. You neither deserve compassion nor pity for you have shown neither towards this people.”

He came to stand before the sweating man, whose clothes were ripped and soiled. The Mater gazed up at the bowman towering over him and for a moment, Gandalf thought that Bard might raise his sword to the man’s neck.

But he did not. 

With jaw clenched, the bowman relinquished his tight grip and sheathed his sword, crouching down eye level with the bound man. His gaze was hard and resolute.

“We have many questions for you, oh wicked master,” He remarked lowly, “and you would do well to answer them. But know this: justice will be measured upon you.” He gave The Master a condescending pat upon the head, “THAT I can promise you.”

Straightening up to his full height, the bowman turned and faced the company of townspeople, the elves, a wizard and a rather imposing black bear. His eyes were firm with conviction, his lips pulled into a thing line.

“We must move.” 

*****

Lyla had never been kissed before. 

Aule knows that her father would have NEVER allowed such at thing to happen!

But here she stood now, within the confines of strong arms as a dwarf king connected their lips together.

She was being kissed! 

And how terribly odd it all was.

And while the sensation of having someone so close to you, their lips pressed against your own, was foreign to her mind, she had to admit that it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.  
In fact, she rather enjoyed the sensation. 

It was as if a spark of warmth had blossomed in her chest as Thorin’s soft round lips found purchase on hers, moving slowly across her mouth and coaxing her lips closer to his own. 

Her stomach did a giddy, hesitant stressful sort of jump, making Lyla’s nerves flutter, but her lips responded (almost of their own accord) melding together seamlessly with his.

Thorin’s nose brushed against her cheek and his calloused fingers danced across her cheek and into her curls. Thorin’s thumb rubbed soft circles across her cheek.

Lyla found herself leaning into that touch, her eyes fluttering closed as she drowned in the pleasant, cascading feeling of security and peace that filled her heart.

Her hands wove around the dwarf’s neck and hesitantly found a few stray tendrils of silky hair to hold onto. 

She certainly didn’t know what she was doing but the feel of Thorin’s hair gliding over her fingers brought her a sense of comfort and giddy delight. 

The dwarf king shuddered and tightened his hold on the hobbit, but pulled his lips away slowly, his breath coming out in a few ragged breaths as he leaned his forehead back down against her own, his eyes dark and gaze intense as he stared at her.

For a moment Lyla thought that perhaps Thorin was upset with her. 

Had she not kissed well? Not that she KNEW how to kiss, mind you, but…

Heat rose on her cheeks and her eyes went wide as she felt a crushing loss fill her at the thought that perhaps Thorin was regretting his decision to kiss her. 

And until that moment, she hadn’t realized that SHE had wanted him to kiss her. 

Aule, what was WRONG with her?!

Her thoughts were jumbled, heart pounding, ears ringing, breathing erratic.

She felt alive and happy.

But terrified.

She bit her lip in consternation and gazed back at the dwarf king, her brows furrowing.

Thorin gazed back, his eyes slowly lightening in color, a small frown playing on his lips as his brows, too, furrowed. 

He slowly stepped away from her, his hands coming to rest at his sides, as her fingers slipped from his ebony waves. 

Lyla’s blush deepened. 

Oh he WAS upset. 

“Forgive me,” He remarked haltingly after clearing his throat, “I did not mean to impose that…THAT upon you.”

He gave her a halfhearted smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

His eyes, that quickly found a bit of wall to gaze at instead of her.

Lyla gave a small nod of her head, a resigned sigh escaping her lips.

“I’m sorry too,” She murmured, her gaze falling to the floor, where the torch rested carefully near the door. 

Lyla’s ears picked the dimming roar of the dragon.

Funnily enough, its loud booming cries had ceased for a short while. 

She wondered why.

Her gaze hesitantly shifted back towards the dwarf king and she was surprised to find confusion on his face as he stared back at her.

“I beg your pardon?” 

Thorin quirked an eyebrow at her his lips pulling downward into a soft, confused frown.

“What could you possibly mean by apologizing?” he questioned, eyes unblinking and expectant.

Embarrassment flooded Lyla’s veins as she stared back at the curious dwarf.

Was he serious?

Oh Aule…

Her fingers twitched and she grasped at the thin fraying fabric of Dwalin’s old, tatter coat trying to sort through her emotions (keep them in check) and figure out a way to explain things without sounding too terribly ridiculous.

“I…ah…” she rubbed her foot against her leg awkwardly, “I…well I just…I mean I’m…” She let out a loud puff of air. “Oh bebother it all! This is ridiculous. I’m sorry you were…ah…disappointed.”

She gave a firm nod of her head and fixed her gaze on Thorin’s, steeling her nerves.

“I’m sorry if that…kiss was unpleasant. I certainly don’t know how to…ah…kiss and if you did it and were disappointed I…uh…I apologize for it. Especially if it damaged your feelings towards me.”

Lyla swallowed back the squeak in her throat and fisted her hands behind her back, staring at the dwarf who stood in front of her. 

“What?” he asked completely baffled by her response, “What on this good earth are you talking about?”

“Well, I…I-uh…aren’t you…I mean…I didn’t think that you…” she trailed off flustered. “Please don’t make me repeat it.”

“You think that I found that kiss…unpleasant?” he asked incredulously, “Because you’ve never kissed before?”

She nodded as the blush assailing her cheeks burned brighter.

Thorin laughed lightly.

Lyla’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see what you might find funny,” She replied with a frown, “I’m sorry that my confession is so amusing to you.”

“Oh you stubborn impertinent little creature! Always eager to argue.” Thorin reached up and started to rub her arms, “I did not find kissing you unpleasant or disappointing you silly creature.”

‘Silly creature?!’

“I am not some…some mere creature you know!” She huffed, trying to step away.

Thorin’s grip tightened as he smiled down on her, “Yes, alright. I do know that. I apologize.” His eyes softened even further, his lips twitched and his thumbs started rubbing those soothing circles into her arms, “I mean no disrespect. I simply find you…fascinating.”

Lyla’s expression stilled and she stared back at the dwarf king, her cheeks still feeling overly warm.

“I only meant to apologize for my forward behavior, if you found it offensive. I meant no disrespect. I assure you and if YOU found that unpleasant I offer my utmost apologies.”  
Oh. 

“Why…why would you suppose that I was offended?” She chanced hesitantly, eyes going wide.

Thorin stepped closer and nuzzled his nose next to hers, a ghost of a smirk on his face, his eyes alight with amusement…and a bashfulness that seemed totally foreign on the face   
of the ever-assured Thorin Oakenshield.

“Probably for the same reason that you apologized to me.”

He tilted his head upward and kissed her nose before pulling away.

“Though, I confess, I do not regret my actions.”

He reached down and grasped her hands in his own, bringing them to his lips with a gentle slowness that left Lyla’s heart fluttering.

“Alright then, I think that’s quite enough of that!” Dwalin’s gruff voice echoing in the hall sent Lyla jumping in surprise and embarrassment. 

Thorin only groaned.

“Impeccable timing, dear Dwalin, as per usual,” Thorin remarked drily.

“Aye, I know it’s good timin’! Yer dear nephew gave me the warnin’ about yer whereabouts,” The warrior grumbled, stepping towards Lyla and grasping her arm, “Ye’ve been gone long enough! And don’ think I didn’t know what ye were doin’!”

He turned his gaze on the cherry faced hobbit, and his scowl softened into a small smile, “Aye lass, ye’ve found yerself an admirer I see.”

Lyla’s face burned brighter, but she couldn’t hold back the small, shy smile that touched her lips.

An admirer? 

It was certainly a wonderfully novel idea. 

Dwalin ruffled her hair lightly and brought her into his own arms, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. 

“Aye, ye deserve happiness.” He murmured into her hair. “But, I’ll not let anyone disrespect ye. No takin’ advantage of her!”

Lyla looked up to see Dwalin’s face turned towards Thorin.

“Remember my warnin’ to ye.”

The tone in Dwalin’s voice brooked no argument and Thorin didn’t seem inclined to give it. The king only stood, face awash in shadows, a smile on his lips.

“Yes. I remember.”

Lyla’s interest was piqued as she stared between Thorin and Dwalin curious to know just what they were talking about. 

But her interest (and fear) shifted to a more pressing matter when a loud crash echoed through the mountain and the ground shook, nearly knocking the three of them sideways.   
Dwalin’s grasp stayed firm on her as they swayed. 

There was a horrendously agonized and infuriated roar that made Lyla’s ears ring.

And then silence. 

“I take it the beast is back then,” Dwalin’s gruff whisper tickled her ear.

Her stomach dropped and she nodded silently. It was rather obvious that the dragon had returned to his mountain dwelling. 

And that created a whole list of problems for Lyla to contend with. 

Not to mention the nagging fear that perhaps nothing remained of Esgaroth.

And those children…

“Lass…”

Lyla snapped back to attention and peered up at Dwalin’s concerned face.

“Sorry, what did you say?” She murmured as the warrior stepped back from her, though he didn’t remove his hands from her shoulders.

“I said we need te figure out if there’s a weakness with this dragon. Somthin’ ye can use against it.”

Weakness?

That was a good question really. 

“Well I don’t really know how I’m to figure that out if I cannot get close to the dragon without…er…” she trailed off wrinkling her nose. 

“Aye that’s true,” Dwalin looked worried and contemplative, different emotions flitting across his face every few seconds. 

“I don’ know what we can do about that just yet.”

Thorin finally sighed, “I think it’s best if we get back to the others,” He turned his attention to the hobbit, he tugged lightly on Lyla’s elbow, “I’m beginning to suspect that the   
others think you might disappear. And perhaps we can figure out a solution to this…large problem?”

Lyla smiled and nodded her head, starting after Dwalin who was already retreating down the hall.

And then stopped just as suddenly as she had started.

The smile slipped from her face and her eyes widened in realization.

“Lass?” Dwalin called to her for the second time, “Are ye alright.”

Lyla blinked and stared up and Dwalin, the grin returning to her lips.

“It’s brilliant! Of course! Why didn’t I think of it!”

Thorin came to stand near Dwalin and the two of them watched the hobbit carefully, their eyes conveying the worry they felt.

“Would you care to explain?” Thorin remarked raising an eyebrow at her questioningly. 

*****  
Lyla did indeed explain.

Sort of.

When they reached the alcove, wary of speaking too loudly, the rest of the company huddled around the hobbit and listened as she recounted her magic little ring that could turn her invisible.

Some of the dwarves recognized this as the same piece of jewelry that Gandalf had warned her against using frivolously. 

Thorin, however, did NOT know about the ring and he was curious and questioning.

“That is how you made it through Thranduil’s hall undetected?”

Lyla nodded carefully, her suspicions aroused. 

As soon as she had mentioned the ring, it was as if its weight tripled in her pocket. Up until that point her mind had been so consumed with other thoughts, other concerns that she had ignored the trinket. But now as she brought its knowledge forth, it was as if a weight was resettling over her shoulders. 

It filled her with a sense of dread.

And something must have sparked a suspicion in Thorin’s eyes as he gazed at her thoughtfully.

“Does it have any…adverse effects on you?” He questioned quietly, his eyes boring into her.

No doubt to check for a lie. 

And while Lyla appreciated the concern (for she truly did) something held her back from disclosing the truth of the ring. 

There was something…uncomfortable about it. Lyla felt wearied whenever she wore the thing, like all her joys were just simple dreams that were whisked away by the breaking of the dawn. 

But she couldn’t tell Thorin that. 

She wouldn’t tell any of the dwarves that. 

Compared to all the good she could do with the object at the moment, it seemed but a small sacrifice for her to put the ring on again. 

“No.” she replied quietly, fixing her gaze on Thorin, her eyes unflinching, “Not that I’ve noticed anyway.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at her and pursed his lips as he studied her expression.

Lyla willed herself not to cringe or cast her eyes downward. She had to make him believe. It was for his good that she was doing this. She needed to keep this knowledge from him. 

At least for now. 

After a moment, Thorin sighed and then nodded his head. “We’ll wait a few hours and then you may enter with this…ring of yours, if that is your wish.”

*****  
The hours seemed to stretch on forever and pass in the blink of an eye simultaneously.

Lyla sat curled up in Thorin’s coat (he had insisted she take it for the time being), wedged between Thorin and Kili, both of whom sat in complete silence gazing at the wall. They would not allow her to sit by herself in the corridor again, but did not feel it necessary to provoke conversation.

In fact, all the dwarves were silent. 

Instead they were, like Lyla, straining to hear the sounds of the dragon in the treasure room. They listened for breathing, quiet growls or roars. 

But when no sounds were heard, no reverberations felt, did Lyla slowly rise to her feet, shrugging off the warm coat an straightening her sleeves. 

The rest of the company remained sitting. They had decided—or rather Lyla had INSISTED—that they remain away from the entrance to the treasure room for fear that Smaug would detect them. And though many protested, it was Balin’s agreement that shut the argument up.

Though she could tell that none were pleased with the situation.

There was nothing to be done about it, however. Lyla was the only option and that was that, really.

With one last glance around her, a soft smile of reassurance on her face, the hobbit turned to duck out of the alcove and make her way towards the entrance to the throne room.   
But a hand on her wrist stopped her, pulling her backwards until she tumbled from her feet and landed, most ungracefully on her behind. 

Thorin chuckled lowly and turned her chin until Lyla was facing him and ever so gently he placed his lips atop hers again, running his thumb along her jaw, his other fingers curling around her neck and finding solace in the short tendrils he found there. 

“Be safe,” he murmured in her ear pulling away, “Please be safe, dear Givashel. And come back.”

Lyla could only nod as she rose once more to her feet and stumbled her way out of the alcove, shooting a glance back, her face flaming in a blush of surprise. 

Many of the dwarves were grinning and that sent her embarrassment soaring.

She waited until she was out of their sight and closer to the doorway that lead into the throne room before she remove the heavy gold ring from her pocket. The cool metal felt almost as though it were buzzing like a bumble bee in her hand, the vibrations sending tingles down her fingertips. 

She thought she caught the snatches of a hushed hiss as she slid the jewel-less gold upon her finger.

The familiar haze settled over her vision and she felt the uncomfortable pressure on her shoulders, bearing her down and tearing at the joy she had felt only moments ago.  
The low guttural hissing intensified in her ear and she cringed at the way it made her arms itch in dread.

It felt like Mirkwood all over again and she had the sudden desire to rip the offensive article from her body and lob it into the darkest recesses of the tunnel. 

But she couldn’t. And wouldn’t. 

She needed the ring. It could help her scout the area and get close to Smaug without the dragon noticing her presence—hopefully—as long as she retained a lightness of foot.

Perhaps she could find a moment to take the ring off once she was inside and safely hidden...

With carefully precise movements she inched up the incline and into the treasure room, taking note that the dragon was no where near the doorway in which she stood.

Her heart hammered and Lyla had to remind herself that she was well, and indeed, hidden, and that should she happen upon the massive creature it would only gaze through her. 

Or so she hoped. 

As long as she didn’t jostle the gold coins swallowing her feet, though that was proving immensely difficult. 

She cringed as a few coins jingled down a particularly steep mound. She stood still, holding her breath and waited, listening for the growls or snarls of an enraged dragon. 

But she heard nothing.

Much to her surprise. 

Warning bells sounded in her ears as she reached along the wall gazing outwards into the mounds of treasure. Her hazy vision swept through the gold, searching until she spied the long dark tail of the dragon fifty feet away.

It lay perfectly still, the rest of the body curving around a pillar and out of her view.

Lyla edged closer, feeling along the wall for reassurance as she made her way closer to the pillar, hoping to spy the dragon. 

Perhaps he would be asleep.

But how could she be certain?

Lyla knew very little of dragons, other than what her mother had read to her at bedtime. She knew that they were angry, protective creatures who you were NEVER to give your name to. 

But to determine whether a dragon was sleeping? She was at a loss. 

‘Well, you’ve come this far, Lyla, you may as well investigate the situation completely.’

Her logic was faulty and her fear continued to climb as she moved further and further from the doorway, eyes never straying from the dragon. 

The closer she got the more she could piece together the sheer enormity and strength of Smaug the Terrible. First were the back legs, tucked neatly beneath the round belly. Even from her awkward angle, and with her hazy vision she could see the glittering jewels encrusted in the dragon’s skin. 

‘How clever.’ She conceded moving closer, wary of placing her feet as silently as possible.

The hissing in her ears grew in volume with each step that lead her towards the dragon. Her hands twitched and her she felt as though someone where trying to knock the wind from her lungs.

When she stumbled, sending glittering jewels tumbling down the hill, her heart stopped and she gazed at the large tail and the clawed legs and waited for movement.  
Nothing. 

Lyla’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Earlier it had been a small cup tumbling that sent the dragon into a rage.

And now? It couldn’t be bothered by any movement or noise she was making? 

Odd.

Lyla spotted a rather large block of wall in the center of the room, its high glittering green stone stretching high up and disappearing into the inky darkness of the mountain.   
She’d be out of sight there for a moment and could take the ring off and assess her situation better without the haze or hissing in her ear. 

With silent leaps through the small mounds of gold, she scurried across the divide and to the pillar, tucking her body into the alcove that hid her eyes from the view of the dragon.  
Carefully, she slid the ring from her finger and fisted her hand around it, letting out a small gasp of air as the world came back into sharp focus and the hissing noise dimmed in her ears. 

It was far more bearable for the moment. 

But then she heard…

Something shifted and Lyla’s eyes went wide in horror as she slowly peeked her head around the edge of the pillar.

Her throat went dry.

Smaug was gone!

‘Of course…blasted dragon!’

Lyla stumbled backwards, trying to remain as silent as possible and edged her way slowly across the length of the pillar, her eyes darting around wildly.

But there was no dragon. 

She could just put the ring back on now…

Yes. That was a wise decision.

Lyla stopped and uncurled her hand, shooting a suspicious glance to her left as she grabbed the ring and moved to place it on her finger.

But a loud, deep growl had her hands stilling her blood running cold. 

‘Oh Aule help me.’

She stumbled backwards, her hand that wasn’t enclosed around the ring, reaching to touch the pillar, as her feet slid against the smooth materials. The dragon’s massive spiked head twisted towards her, his large red and yellow eyes glittering dangerously as he bared his teeth at the tiny hobbit whose back connected with the pillar.

She stared wide-eyed and gasping as the dragon breathed on her, its warm breath smelling of ash and sulfur. 

Her insides turned cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> And the second half of this massive chapter may take a little longer to post (like tomorrow-ish) because I'll be busy in the afternoon and won't be able to fix a problem with the dialogue. But it should be up fairly quickly.
> 
> And, be sure to take a gander at these lovely authors and their works. 
> 
> chappysmom: Her Sherlock-based fics are AMAZING.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> And the lovely Luckyhai5 and her wonderfully diverting fem!bilbo AU, 'Good Morning':
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	55. A Thief, A Liar, and A Tookish Hobbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A foolhardy conversation with a dragon...
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> http://youtu.be/zkXbzffVl44  
> http://youtu.be/2ulkceIxkLc  
> http://youtu.be/9aBEBiUE1LA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you for all the love and support for the last chapter. You are all wonderful readers and I truly adore you!
> 
> Sorry that it has taken me a few days to get this out to you. I've had a busy week! And it's only getting busier for me in the next few days, so I apologize in advance for the slight delay in my normal pace of getting chapters up...but it's another longer chapter so I hope you enjoy that!

“You should know, little thief,” The dragon hissed at her leaning his face closer to her own, “That I could smell you the minute you stepped into the room? Did you think that your scent would not carry to one so adept at detecting things as I am?”

Lyla gaped at the colossal creature, her heart hammering in her chest. 

This was bad. 

When she didn’t answer, the dragon’s eye narrowed and he growled louder, his enormous pointed teeth snapped near her face.

“I would incinerate your tiny, pathetic form,” The Smaug rumbled, slamming a massive paw down onto the pile of gold, “But I would not risk harming my precious possessions.  
They are dear to me. Far more valuable than some little…rat seeking shelter and a few coins for its pocket.” 

Lyla tightened the grip around the ring as her heart hammered roughly against her ribs.

Yes, this was very bad.

She didn’t dare move quite yet. She feared that the slightest indication of her desire to remove herself from the dragon’s presence would provoke the ire of the fire breathing beast.  
Smaug’s eye twitched and he snorted again sending small clouds of smoke into the air, eyeing the hobbit carefully.

“Well, come then, help yourself little thief!” he grumbled, “There’s plenty to spare and you were so eager to return…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing as he blew a small puff of smoke into the hobbit’s face.

Lyla coughed and tried to clear the air near her face by waving her hand.

But she didn’t dare blink. She was afraid of what might happen if she let them slip closed.

“I-“ she coughed again, trying to expel the thick, harsh smoke from her lungs and stall for time, “I did not come here to steal your treasure.”

Smaug growled, eyes narrowed as he stepped outwards, more of his body exposed to Lyla’s view, glittering jewels on the creature’s chest reflecting into her eyes making her squint up at the red scales, glowing yellow eyes and long pointed snout filled with agonizingly sharp teeth. 

“Did you not? Why, are you a thief and a liar too?” 

‘Stall Lyla’ She thought in a panic as tension billowed in the air, ‘You have to stall. Do something until you can get that ring on without alerting him.’

The massive dragon stepped fully into view, his body blocking the small entrance back down towards the tunnel. The red scales gleamed with a sinister light as Smaug’s long spiked tail swished back and forth agitatedly. He peered down his long snout at her, eyes narrowed and calculating, waiting.

“I did not come to steal from you, o-oh great and magnanimous Smaug the Terrible. I merely came to see if the-the legends were true,” Lyla stuttered over her words as she tried stop her legs from shaking in fright. 

Aule she was talking to a dragon!

She was mental...

She tightened her grip on the ring and waited, watching for the right moment.

Smaug, though, didn’t seem to believe her expulsions of curiosity.

“Why?” he hissed, “What legends have you heard? That I am nothing more than a harmless lizard laying in a bed of gold? Easy prey was that it? Come to take back presents to your companions perhaps?”

Lyla swallowed back the squeak of fright as the Dragon’s face loomed closer to her, “I-I-no thank you, O-O Smaug the tremendous! I did not come for presents…I only came to see if the tales were as accurate as others have claimed. I-I did not believe them.”

“Oh, did you not, now?” The dragon seemed somewhat flattered, his eyes widening from their narrowed gaze as he lumbered back a step, taking in the hobbit’s tiny frame, “And what,” He remarked lowly, “Do you think of those tales now?”

‘Dragons like flattery? That’s…good.’

“I think,” Lyla replied, as she straightened up, meeting the dragon’s gaze, “I think that tales and songs fall utterly short of the reality, for you, O Smaug, are certainly the chiefest and greatest calamity of the age.”

The dragon’s mouth widened exposing his teeth to the light and making Lyla’s throat go dry and her fingers feel slick with sweat.

But then Smaug’s eyes narrowed and he suddenly leaned forward towards Lyla again, making the hobbit press her back hard against the pillar wall.

“You,” he remarked, “Are very polite. You have nice manners…for a thief and a liar,” The dragon’s eyes narrowed further, “And you seem familiar with my name, how is that for I do not know what you are.”

Smaug retreated again, eyes trained on Lyla, expectant and narrowed.

“Tell me lying thief, what are you? You do not smell like a dwarf and believe me I should know,” The dragon grumbled as he snorted, “Who are you and where do you come from, if I may ask?”

Ask?

Lyla gazed back at the dragon with suspicion. She was certain that it was only this curiosity that drove the dragon to continue to talk to her rather than squashing her into nothing more than a pile of jelly. 

Ah, but how to answer? 

She knew not to give her name. That was a certainty. However, she could sense that the dragon’s temper was likely easily provoked. 

So, it wouldn’t do to ignore the question either.

“I-uh,” how was she supposed to answer this? “Your, your tales have preceded you, O Smaug. Everyone knows of your name.”

Obviously, she ignored the question entirely.

The dragon’s sudden growl filled the cavern as he lobbed a clawed foot into the gold, scattering pieces through the air. 

Lyla had to duck to avoid being struck.

‘Shouldn’t have ignored him then…foolish girl.’ She chided herself.

But, honestly, how was she supposed to answer anything without giving into the dragon’s curiosity and forfeiting her life?

“Do you take me for a fool? Are you really so vacant?” He snorted,“What must it be like inside that funny little head of yours I wonder. Is it nice not being me? Not being aware of everything? I know that you ignore my question just as I you have companions little thief! I can smell them on you. And you dare lie to me through ignorance?!”

He growled again and scattered more coins into the air, jaws snapping together and a low hiss reverberating through the cavern, making the walls shudder and shake as he started to storm about, his tail twisting and flicking in front of the doorway.

And her only escape route.

‘Bebother it all.’

Lyla ducked further, avoiding the larger shower of gold trinkets and baubles as she stumbled.

‘It might be wise to use the ring now Lyla’

Carefully, she released her hand and grasped the ring, thrusting it onto her finger and gave a sigh of relief as the world took on that familiar (yet still disturbing) haze, the colors of the cavern muting, the dragon’s visibly surprised face.

And though the hissing rumbles filled her ears more clearly and the heavy weight of dread returned to her shoulders, she was thankful for the power the ring held in making her invisible from the tyrannical dragon.

Hesitantly she scooted back as the beast moved closer to where she had been standing only moments ago, sliding easily down the embankment of gold while the creature was distracted.

The beast stilled, a growl of annoyance escaping his jowls as his eyes narrowed.

“Very clever little creature!” He crooned eyes darting around the cavern, searching “Though, you should know that I can still smell you and feel your air. I can still hear your breathing. I know you are still here, though your disappearing trick is quite clever. Perhaps you are not as dull and boring as I originally suspected.”

The dragon took a step to the side and Lyla scrambled backwards as the sounds of gold tumbling cascaded around her.

It covered the noise she made.

“Come now!” The dragon called, sweetening his voice (and changing tactics), “I admitted to being impressed. Will you not, now, tell me your name and where it is you hail?”

Lyla held her breath as the dragon’s eyes swept over the spot in which she huddled

She waited, silent.

The dragon didn’t appreciate that.

“I suppose,” He sighed dramatically, “That I will have to hunt for your companions then. Dwarves I believe them to be. Perhaps they would be more forthcoming with…information.”  
Smaug turned his body, facing towards the small opening that lead to the secret doorway and peered into the entrance, inhaling deeply.

Lyla’s eyes widened in alarm. 

“Yes. Dwarves. I can smell their stinking sweat…most repulsive scent, I assure you little creature,” he turned his head back towards the small pile of gold near the pillar where Lyla once stood, “Shall I send a little…message their way? I don’t suppose they mind losing their breath.”

Oh no.

The dragon turned back towards the entrance and inhaled again, a low rumble working its way through Smaug’s body. 

‘Stall Lyla!’ her mind hissed at her.

“WAIT!” she cried, “Stop!”

The dragon stilled and turned back towards the treasure room.

“Oh ho!” He cried, “There ARE others then, aren’t there! That was merely a guess on my part…though I must confess that I am far more clever than you lot.” He trailed off, his eyes glinting dangerously as he gazed around the room, “So, then, thief, will you answer my questions? Or shall I end them?”

“Er-“ Lyla cleared her throat, willing her words to remain steady, “I-I’m sure, oh Smaug the great and powerful, that if you were to spare them that it would be most welcome news. I imagine that they rather enjoy breathing.”

“Ha! Breathing?” The dragon settled down in front of the entrance, his large backside blocking the opening completely, “Breathing is boring.” And then he snorted again, stretching out his clawed legs, “Now tell me, thief, what is your name and where do you hail?”

Oh. This again?

‘Think Lyla, think…”

“Uh-well, I-“ 

“Yes little thief? I take it you are not as stupid as I originally supposed. Now, I have asked the questions, will you not answer them? This is all becoming rather tedious and I get bored so easily…”

‘You have to stall Lyla. Stall for as long as possible.’

“Er-oh yes, of course, you most considerate and condescending creature,” She exclaimed as she watched as the dragon smirked at her reply.

And then an idea struck her brain.

It was another foolhardy and crazy idea.

A foolhardy TOOKISH idea. An idea that Thorin would certainly FUME over if he knew about it.

But the dwarf king was NOT here to fume at her...and it could buy her some time. 

Smaug thought himself clever, did he?

Well, she supposed, let us test that supposition and verify…

“I-uh-I come from under the hill,” she began hesitantly trying to piece together a cohesive thought, “and under hills and over the hills. And as you are away, I am one that walks unseen.”

“Yes, yes,” said Smaug, “So I can believe, but that is hardly your usual name now is it?”

“Indeed not,” Lyla continued, wracking her brain for more riddled replies, “I…I’m the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number.”

“Oh lovely titles indeed,” sneered the dragon indulgently, “But lucky numbers don’t always remain so lucky now do they?”

“Ah, but for now I am lucky, yes?” Lyla remarked as she shifted as silently as possible, wary of staying in one place too long, lest the dragon pinpoint her exact location.  
“I am also one who came from the end of a bag,” the hobbit continued, “though no bag went over me.”

Smaug scoffed, “Hardly a credible title you have there. Come now, tell me more little riddler for I am very much intrigued.”

“Er-I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles.” Lyla silently came to stand, shifting her position to the left as the dragon’s eyes swept throughout the room, narrowed and assessing for movement, “I am ringwinner and luckwearer and I am a barrel rider…”

“Well!” Smaug amended, “THOSE are certainly better titles, and they give me some well needed information. I had thought last night, little thief that those Lake-men had some nasty scheme in the works. They must have worked together with you to come here, I wager. You and those dwarves.”

Lyla remained silent on that score, trying to regulate her breathing.

Had she exposed too much?

“Now now little one!” Smaug continued soothingly, “You couldn’t have been smart enough to know the type of company that you were keeping. Those filthy dwarves? And those sneaking Lake-men? I suppose they are skulking outside, and they sent you in here to thieve away THEIR gold…oh you poor simple little fool.”

A deep chuckle filled the air as the dragon blew warm air from his lungs.

Lyla’s eyes narrowed. 

He was baiting her and she hated to admit that it was working on some small level.

“This is hardly about gold,” she scoffed, keeping her tone level. 

She had to divert his attention away from the company.

And Laketown.

“Oh isn’t it?” Smaug retorted hautily, his eyes narrowing to his left.

Where Lyla was sitting.

She shifted uncomfortably and tried to move without attracting attention.

“Indeed,” She retorted, “gold and money are not on my list of priorities Oh Smaug the remarkable and triumphant.”

Smaug growled, “You, little thief, are a liar of the highest degree. And though you are no dwarf, I know that you understand the draw of gold inherent in their nature. They are as greedy as we dragons…though not as strong. They are tempted and controlled by the call of the glittering gems. Tell me, oh lucky number, did they tell you how you’d receive your share of the treasure? Or did you follow naively, wide-eyed and eager for adventure?”

The dragon barked out a laugh and rolled to his side, his underbelly exposed and glittering in the dim light. 

Smaug slammed his tail down against the piles of gold, sending a spray of coins into the air.

Lyla ducked and winced as a cold gold piece connected with her cheek.

But her attention was riveted to the left breast of Smaug’s encrusted underbelly. Even with her hazy vision, Lyla could see the light bouncing off the various gems and jewels sticking to the scaly skin.

Except for one spot. 

One tiny, opening lay exposed, the soft skin standing out like a beacon against the hard, glittering frame surrounding it. 

A thought floated in her head.

Perhaps is she were to expose that opening more…?

But how?

“Oh come now, little naïve thief? Are you giving up on our conversation so quickly?” Smaug’s glittering, glowing eyes lit up the room, casting shadows about the dragon’s face, making the rough edges and pointed scales appear more menacing in the strange lighting.

She cringed inwardly as she realized the only way to combat this problem and give the dwarves a chance to fell the beast.

She’d have to taunt him.

“You, oh Smaug, are a fool” She declared making her voice rise as she squared her shoulders.

Well, if she was going to be follow through with this lunacy…

Smaug’s eyes narrowed as he straightened, smoke billowing from his large nostrils. “A fool am I?” He hissed, “You think that *I* am a fool? I could easily crush you, thief, if not for your trickery. But, even that does not matter! You are trapped in here with me and have no way to get back to your precious company.” 

Lyla laughed, though inwardly she was shuddering, “Yes!” She remarked, forcing a cheerfulness into her voice as she grabbed hold of a large pointed gem, “Indeed you are a fool! You think that we came here just for treasure? Ha! The thought is absurd.”

“Is it now?” the dragon muttered darkly, his voice dropping low and menacing, “Enlighten me then, oh marvelous thief.”

“Why it’s nothing so remarkable!” She retorted grasping the jewel firmly in her palm, willing the shaking in her limbs to subside, “I rather thought that someone as marvelously clever as you could have surmised that revenge is the name of this game!”

“Revenge you say?!” The dragon rose to its feet, a snarl escaping his large gaping mouth, “Who would dare come into these parts to seek revenge against me! Where is the king under the mountain? Did not I drive him away? And the men of Dale? Did not I devour them, burned their city to the ground and gloated over the spoils of my victory?! Ha!” Smaug stamped his feet, “Tell me thief, who would dare to challenge me?!”

Lyla felt a pang of annoyance lance her at his comments. 

Her thoughts turned to Thorin and her resolve hardened.

She narrowed her eyes at the dragon.

“There are more than a few who would wish your demise! We came over hill and under it, by wave and win, for revenge. Surely, Oh Smaug the unassuming, you must realize that your success has made MANY bitter enemies against you?” She remarked, letting the jewel fly.

It knocked against the dragon’s leg, bouncing harmlessly to the side. 

And then the dragon laughed heartily, an ear-splitting, floor-shaking, horrifying sound that shook Lyla sideways.

But she scrambled to grab another trinket and rose to her feet again as the dragon continued to chortle.

“You think that I am susceptible to injury from your tiny inflictions?!” The laughs increased as the dragon rose on his haunches and gestured to his chest, “Do you not see, little thief, that I am covered in scales of iron and hardened gems? Not event he sharpest spear could pierce me! And here you throw a trifle at me? And my leg no less!”

Lyla tossed a crown at the dragon this time, her aim reaching the dragon’s middle.

The crown bounced harmlessly off of the glittering gemstones firmly attached to the soft underside of Smaug’s person.  
If she could just knock a little bit…

Smaug stopped his laughs and straightened stomping in the direction that Lyla had tossed the crown from. His breathing was heavy, boiling gusts of warm breath ghosted over her flesh, making her skin crawl.

She swallowed back the bile that rose to her throat and backed away from the legs that crashed amongst the golden floor. 

Lyla noted, with a bit of relief, that the dragon had stepped away from the opening to the tunnel. Her escape was available once more. 

“Mark me!” The dragon growled, his long neck stretching forth to gaze about carefully, “The company you keep will lead to your misery. You will fall prey to their whims and vices. They will cast you aside and lead to your ruin!” 

Lyla shifted out of the path of the dragon’s legs and latched onto a scepter, hefting the heavier object into her hands with a bit of strain.  
If she could just get close enough…

“I hardly agree with that!” She retorted loudly, drawing the dragon’s gaze back towards her, “You know nothing of the company or the men of Laketown! And it is you, who will fall.”

“Oh ho! What bravery!” The dragon snarled contemptuously as he turned his body, “Bravery is by far the kindest term for stupidity, I’d wager. And here you are, you tiny little creature, with your strange scent and your loyalty to the dwarves of this mountain! And of the Lake-men too? Well!” The dragon pounded his feet into the gold, sending a shower of coins and jewels upward, some disappearing into the darkness. “Perhaps I shall visit this town of yours then, little thief and barrel rider, and put things back in their proper order! It would appear that the men of Laketown must be reminded of who is more powerful, yes?”

Panic and fear shot through Lyla like lightening, but the words she had spoken could not be undone and the power of the dragon would be unleashed. 

But perhaps she could tip the scale in their favor?

She braced herself as the dragon stepped over her, his stomach and chest glittering above hobbits small frame. 

Lyla tried to steady her hands as she brought the heavy scepter upwards with a heave.

Aiming at the exposed portion of the dragon’s left breast. 

Smaug let out a horrified and pained shriek as the heavy golden staff connected with the soft tissue.

The rounded edge of the trinket didn’t break the skin.

But it DID manage to knock loose a few more gems, making the small opening between jewels and skin wider and more accessible.

Lyla hoped it would be enough as she dove from underneath the dragon’s shaking form and slipped and slid downwards towards the tunnel entrance.

The tip of Smaug’s tail caught the hobbit in the arm, the force of the blow sending her rolling.

Conveniently down towards the unguarded opening

“Well!” She called, rubbing her sore arm as she rose, reaching the doorway, “I really must be going! It’s been a pleasure and your company has certainly been…most enlightening for me! Good day, my dear fellow!” 

The hobbit skittered away as the angry roars of the beast shook the mountain.

But then the darting hobbit felt the painful heat racing down the tunnel, licking at her heels. She bypassed the alcove and made her way towards the doorway and fresh air as the heat behind her made sweat pour down her neck and made her gasp for breath.

She reached the doorway and was surprised the find it opened wide, the cool winter air washing over her face. 

‘They must have moved away from the entrance when they heard Smaug’s snout sniffing around’ the hobbit surmised.

Lyla tripped at the entry and stumbled outside, her knees connecting with the hard stone of the mountainside as she panted for air. 

Ripping the ring from her finger, she heard the surprised gasps of the others in the company. 

“Mahal, she’s on fire!” Kili cried.

Lyla was yanked to her feet as arms beat on her back, as more hands reached to undo Dwalin’s tattered coat, removing the article from her shoulders. 

The hobbit gazed in surprise at Nori, who held her shoulders as Dori and Bifur stopped on the coat extinguishing the flames that flickered and licked against the dark blue fabric.

The mountain shook again and Lyla winced as someone else grabbed at her.

She was spun around until she was nearly nose to chest with Thorin Oakenshield.

She gazed up hesitantly into the blue eyes that flashed dangerously, a thin-lipped scowl adorning his handsome face. 

“What in Durin’s name were you thinking?!” He cried, “Goading a dragon? I thought you had more sense than THAT.” 

“Well,” Lyla replied hesitantly, straightening her shirt and suspenders carefully, “I am not only a Baggins, but a Took as well...” She trailed off lightly, “We’re, ah, prone to…rash behavior I suppose you could say.”

She gave Thorin a soft laugh and a shy smile.

He was not impressed.

Or amused.

“Mahal, do you have a death wish?” he remarked crossing his arms with a huff, “You promised you’d remain safe and here you come flying out of that tunnel with your coat aflame!”

“Aye lass,” Dwalin cut in with a frown of his own, “what were ye thinking provoking Smaug’s rage like that?”

“Well,” She remarked carefully as the mountain shook repeatedly, the enraged cries of the dragon echoing down the tunnel, “I discovered an…opportunity that might give us an upper hand.”

Thirteen eager pairs of eyes riveted their attention on the hobbit’s face as they stepped closer, nearly encircling the small creature. 

At the intrigued gazes of her companions, and with the comforting presence of a hand on her shoulder, Lyla launched into a recounting of the weak spot in Smaug’s jeweled armor, detailing its location and relative size and her attempt to make the opening wider.

Unbeknownst to her, however, a small thrush sat perched, listening intently to the hobbit’s tale. Once she had finished, the winged creature retreated into the sky, with nary a chirp and sped back toward Laketown.

Where it was certain that Bard the Bowman lay in wait, hoping to receive some good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess the biggest question I have is: What did you think of Smaug? Did he live up to your expectations? Was the interaction worth all of this journey?
> 
> Let me know how you feel about it. I confess that I've spent some time piecing together this interaction and agonizing over how it presented itself...but it wrote the way it wrote...though I do hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> And check out these great authors: 
> 
> chappysmom is a fabulous writer and you should really take the time to peruse some of her works! They are delightful:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> And Luckyhai5 has a great story in the works for the hobbit fandom, so take a peek at that as well!
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	56. Fire and Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire falls from the sky
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/NHk1P9iwOQQ  
> http://youtu.be/zh0Oh5zF2iA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, my apologies for not getting this chapter posted sooner. It's been driving me nuts. Truly it has. But, I've been swamped with real life lately and it took all of my attention away from posting chapters for you. Really I feel terrible about it! So, I hope in some small way that this makes up for my temporary absence.
> 
> Also...guys I have artwork! check out snittycakez's deviantart! She's amazing! *hugs* to her for the beautiful art! I adore it.
> 
> http://snittycakez.deviantart.com/

Thorin could feel his ire rising. 

He clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists.

Oh the nerve of that little…!

True, she had gained valuable information.

Information that could turn the tide in their favor.

Information that could bring about the demise of Smaug the Terrible.

But by Durin’s grace, did she have a death wish?! Did she HAVE to risk more than she already had been by verbally sparring with a dragon? 

A DRAGON!

That hobbit!

He peered down at the small upturned nose and the freckled cheeks, pointedly trying to ignore the wide imploring hazel eyes that gazed back at him.

Instead he focused on the singes on her clothing and in her hair, the smudge mark on her cheek.

And the blackened coat that lay in a heap on the floor. 

Did she not realize…?

After everything…?

“Mahal help me, Mistress Baggins,” He muttered, wrapping his fingers around her arms to hold her firmly in place as cries of an enraged dragon echoed around them, “Have you no sense to think to protect yourself?”

He received perturbed hobbit’s glare and a pouting lip for that remark.

But his gaze stayed firm. He memorized every sweep of her lashes against her pale cheek, every small breath of air that escaped her lungs.

Even the way her eyes burned with a intensity and heat that rivaled the warmest of smith shops. 

Could she not see that he found her to be of great importance? 

More than that really. ..

But could she not see it? Did she care so little for his heart that she’d risk her life time and again?

Deep down he knew the answer. He knew her motives must have been out of compassion for the company.

But her method?

Oh Mahal…

That…

Spirited little, stubborn nymph…

Dearest Givashel…

He exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the urge to shake the foolish creature.

She could rival even the most foolhardy dwarf!

What was he to do with her?

*****

Thorin’s grip tightened around Lyla’s arms as the mountain shook and rumbled.

Smaug continued to howl amongst his treasures.

Lyla winced at the noise, certain that the beast would burst forth from his den at any moment in search of a cheeky little hobbit lass. 

Eru, what had she done?

“THIEF!” Smaug’s roar rattled her teeth and a massive crash jostled the rocks, sending the company stumbling. 

A shower of dirt and pebbles cascaded around them.

“Well, Lass,” Bofur remarked, stretching out his hands to steady himself, “Ye’ve made him angry that’s fer sure.”

The mountain rattled again, rocks groaning and cracking.

It was worse than the thunder battle. 

And it was Lyla’s fault for this blasted situation.

Oh Aule, could she never keep her Tookish habits in check?

Another crash and more debris started to tumble. 

“We must find shelter! Off the mountain!” Gloin cried, his arms above his head, protecting himself from the smattering of pebbles pitter-pattering like raindrops.

Most of the others were in similar positions. Oin was mimicking his brother’s stance while Dori had his arms around Ori and Nori as they huddled together. Bofur was holding tight to Bifur who had Bombur wedged into a small crevice in the rocks. Dwalin, Balin, Fili and Kili had all pressd themselves against the rock siding, their arms linked together tightly. 

And Thorin had never let go of Lyla. He pushed her behind him, closer to the rocks, his finger intertwined with her own.

His grip was tight. 

“We cannot!” Balin cried over the roaring demands of justice erupting from the mountain, “If we try to scale down the mountain the slightest movement will toss us over the side!”

“Then we’ll move into the cave!” Thorin shouted over the growing rumbles and growls. 

He nudged Lyla towards the doorway.

“But the dragon!” Fili muttered, pulling away from the wall, staggering towards Thorin and Lyla, “What if he’s waiting for us to move in there? We can’t just—“

Fili’s remark was cut off as a blast shook the mountain, the noise sending a shockwave through the air, rocketing the company off their feet.

Lyla’s back knocked painfully against the jagged rocks as Thorin was thrown sideways, his fingers wrenched out of hers. 

Lyla’s ears were ringing as she gazed upwards, her eyes sweeping over the way the top of the crevice cut an outline against the sky. 

The world seemed too bright, too focused. 

Everything was sharply defined, the blue of the sky to sparkling, the grey, too shining. 

She noted the shaking stones above her head, but realized she couldn’t hear the crunching, crashing noises or the roars of the dragon.

Thorin’s face appeared over her, his eyes narrowed in worry.

His lips were moving as his fingers swept gently over her cheeks and ears, his thumbs brushing against her lips.

His voice started fading in and out with as the buzzing in her ears started to subside.

“…hurt?” 

His eyes had darkened as his gaze swept over her face, his fingers working into her hair, feeling her scalp. 

“are…hurt?”

She could feel the mountain vibrating beneath her fingers, her heart hammered in her chest.

Aule…

“Lyla!” Thorin’s command pulled her back to the present. 

The blue of his eyes were vibrant, almost humming with energy. 

“Are you hurt,” He murmured leaning closer to her, “Tell me you’re alright.”

Lyla nodded her head slowly, her ears still ringing and the sense of panic still floating through her veins. 

But she could hear again (even if she felt as though cotton had been shoved into her ears)

‘You’ve had a shock is all.’

“I-I’m fine,” she murmured, earning a narrowed gaze and a thin lipped dwarf king staring back at her.

“I hate that phrase,” he muttered, grasping her arms and gingerly hoisting her to her feet. 

“We must make for the tunnel!” He called to the others, ushering Lyla into the dark, followed quickly by Bofur and Bombur, Oin and Gloin, and Ori. 

“THIEF! Where do you hide you little snake!”

Lyla caught a glimpse of a wing in the sky as the insults sailed through the air.

Smaug was patrolling once more.

Oh this was bad. 

Very bad.

“Move!” Thorin cried, “Now!” 

Lyla’s heart stuttered in her chest as the gaggle of dwarves, HER dwarves, stood between her and a dragon. 

But they weren’t quick enough to make it into the doorway before Smaug spotted them.

“DWARVES!” he bellowed, and Lyla saw the looming shape growing larger as she and the others stumbled backwards to make room for Kili and Balin and Fili and Dwalin.

A blast of scorching heat cascaded down upon the little ledge and Lyla was pulled down to the ground by steady hands. 

She covered her head.

She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, but forced them to stay open as she gazed out the entrance to the tunnel. 

Towards the remaining company members outside on the ledge. 

If anything happened to them…

But amidst the boot and limbs, Lyla caught sight of something remarkable.

The narrowed space in which they had been standing only moments ago, was just small enough to create a pocket of air where the flames could not reach. 

Lyla caught sight of blonde and ebony locks just beneath the raining fires of dragon breath. 

She then spied the large calloused hands of a warrior dwarf covering the head of his smaller white-haired and wizened dwarf brother. 

And there nearest the doorway, lay Thorin. The dragon fire, she thought morbidly, only seemed to heighten the richness of his ebony locks, the fine cut of his muscles stretched against the fabric of his tunic and coat.

He was as kingly as ever, laying on the ground before the flames of a powerful enemy. And if he were to die (she refused to accept the almost inevitability of the situation) then he would certain pass with grace and majesty clinging to his person. 

Not that she wished that. 

Suddenly the flaming tirade ceased and Lyla watched Smaug’s massive wings propel him backwards.

“You vile little snake!” He hissed into the air, his voice crackling like a thundercloud overhead. His bright yellow eyes narrowed as he peered at the mountain, keeping a close watch on the small ledge, where the others were hurrying to crawl back into the tunnel.

“You stupid, foul creature! Oh how you repel me! I will end you!” Smaug threatened, his great wing-beats forcing dust and rocks sailing through the sky, the sharp jaggedness, stinging Lyla’s cheeks. 

“I will burn that little heart right out of you!” He cried, and dove towards the ledge again, this time smashing his body against the side of the mountain. 

The rocks overhead shook, the mountain rumbled around her and she felt another shockwave ripple through the tunnel. 

But at least it wasn’t fire.

Though that didn’t exactly ease the guilt she felt over the situation as a whole. She wasn’t sure if she had made the right choice in provoking the dragon and attacking the beast with a scepter.

It had been foolhardy.

But had she had another option?

And what was to be the cost for this decision? 

“Come on now lass, scoot,” Bofur muttered, in her ear, as he tugged gently on her shoulder, “Ye have to move back so the others can get in.”

Right.

Lyla, still crouching, shuffled backwards, mimicking the movements of the others ahead of her. 

But then she noticed something strange…

“Kili get down!” 

Lyla’s eyes widened in horror.

*****  
Never in all his life did Kili think he’s be crouching on a ledge, a few rocky walls standing between himself and a dragon.

Smaug to be precise. 

And yet here he stood. 

He’d risen to his feet, as the beast battered against the grey mountainside and withdrew his bow. 

It wasn’t the safest plan.

Or the brightest, he supposed. 

But it could buy them some time to get into the cave. 

If he could just get a clean shot.

He spied the small opening where Mistress Boggins had indicated and thanked Mahal that she’d had the tenacity to try and make the opening a bit larger. 

It was just large enough to welcome a few well placed arrows. 

“Kili get down!” Thorin bellowed again, “Mahal help me! You’re being a fool!”

Kili didn’t disagree with him, but he DID shove off Fili’s arms as they latched onto his wrist, trying to bring him back down to the dusty floor. 

“NO.” He muttered to his brother, “I have to do something!”

And he had to do it fast before Smaug recognized the attack coming his way and deflected an arrow with fire. 

Frowning and narrowing his eyes, Kili pulled an arrow from his holder and notched it into his bow, pulling the string taut near his ear.

“When he shoots,” Thorin’s voice carried to Kili’s sensitive ears as he steadied his hand and watched carefully for the right moment to release, “We run. No hesitations.”

Then Smaug pulled back his great wing-beats blowing warm, air onto the young dwarf’s face. 

“Dwarf!” The dragon cried enraged, “You think you can defeat me? Ha!”

The dragon puffed out his chest ever so slightly, the jewels glittering on his body catching in the sunlight.

Except for the one spot. 

Kili released his arrow.

*****

Oh Aule what was he DOING?!

Lyla rose to her feet and started to stagger towards the entrance. 

That foolish foolish dwarf! Why would he do that?!

“Kili!”

But the youngest Durin had released his arrow.

“MOVE!” Thorin thundered rising to his feet and grabbing the scruff of Fili’s cloak and yanking the blonde dwarf backwards as his younger brother turned from the flapping, snarling creature and sprinted towards the door. 

But Lyla’s eyes were drawn to the dragon. 

The dragon that was no longer slamming against the side of the mountain. Nor was he spewing and sputtering flames at the company. 

He was howling in agony and fury.

“THIEF!” 

Someone grabbed her arm and tugged her backwards into the darkness of the tunnel as the Dwalin and Thorin pushed the massive door closed.

Lyla caught a glimpse, however, of a small tan arrow protruding from the dragon’s chest.

He’d done it.

“Come on lass,” Bofur was tugging her backwards, “Ye have to move.” 

The dragon’s howls got louder, the rocketing movements that jarred the mountain continued once more, the force of the blows increasing with each connection of the dragon's body against the mountain side, making moving backwards hard.

“Back to the alcove.” Dwalin grumbled, “Move, move!” 

Lyla clung to Bofur’s (or what she thought was Bofur’s) arm as they slowly stumbled through the dark, feeling along the edges of the tunnel. 

With a heaving sigh, Lyla toppled sideways into the alcove, Bofur and another dwarf landing atop of her, knocking the breath from her lungs.

“Oi, ye big lump, gettoff of me!” Bofur groaned. “Bombur!” 

“QUIET!” Thorin roared, making Lyla wince. “Just quiet! Everyone up!” 

The mountain shook again as Lyla gasped in a lungful of air, the pressure easing off her chest. 

Lyla heaved herself to her, bumping into wayward legs and arms. 

“Get a torch lit, Gloin” Thorin snapped waspishly a growl escaping his throat, “And by Durin’s beard be quick about it!” 

A low, unintelligible grumble filled the air, but soon after, so did the soft, orange flicker of torchlight. 

Rumbles and cries of fury still echoed around Lyla’s ears, though they were growing further apart. 

“You!” Thorin grabbed hold of Kili’s shirt and was pulling him close, “What were you doing?!”

Kili’s bow had dropped from his grasp as he stared his Uncle down, his mouth working slowly.

“I…bought us time…” he mumbled, his face betraying the confusion he must have felt. 

“At the risk of your own life? Are you daft? What could have possibly driven you to do that?” Thorin had moved his grip to the young dwarf’s shoulders as he stared into his nephew’s face. 

“I-“ Kili blinked a few times and swallowed. His face set into a firm look and he straightened his stance, “I did what I had to, to buy us some time.”

“You could have been killed you foolish, inexperienced…”

“We ALL could have been killed!” Kili suddenly roared, stepping away from Thorin’s shocked face, “I did what I thought was best. I wanted to buy us time to get in here! 

“It was a foolish-“

“And it worked. You would have done the same thing if you knew that it could bring more people to safety!” 

“I would have never thought to put myself so carelessly into danger!”

“You've done it plenty of times, Uncle!“ Kili cried, an anger blazing in his normally jovial brown eyes, "I made a decision to protect those *I* care about! And I'd do it again. You cannot fault me for that! Surely after everything, after all of this...this heartache and the destruction that wicked creature caused, you cannot fault me for wanting to keep others safe."

Lyla could see the pain in Kili's eyes and hear the emotion lacing his voice.

Thorin could not it seemed.

"But I CAN fault you for being rash and foolish! You-"

“Stop.” Lyla remarked, stepping forward nearly tumbling to the ground as the mountain shook. “Just stop! The both of you. That’s quite enough. What’s done is done. And this is hardly a good time for such a discussion, yes?”

Thorin spun around so quickly that it left Lyla’s head reeling from the movement. The infuriated dwarf king was in front of the baffled hobbit before she could register what was happening.

“You!” He growled, “You are no better than he is!” He gave Lyla a small shake, “You MIGHT be worse in fact! You went into that room with naught but your sword and one, ONE small training session under your belt. YOU promised. And then you go and goad that beast! At least I know Kili could shoot an arrow properly but, you!”

Lyla’s eyes narrowed at the heat rose to her cheeks and ears. 

“I did what I had to do.” She retorted with a hiss, mimicking Kili’s previous comment. 

Didn’t he understand?

“You could have done it differently!” Thorin growled stepping closer to her, peering down his nose at her, His blue eyes glittering dangerously.

Lyla narrowed her own eyes, and frowned at the dwarf king, her heart doing a strange flutter when she locked her sights on his own gaze. “And just what did you expect me to do then, your highness? I didn’t have many options!”

“Anything else would have been preferable!”

“HE WAS GOING TO KILL YOU!” she finally shouted ripping herself from his grasp with a hard shove against Thorin’s chest. “I didn’t have a choice! You…” She swallowed the emotions back, “the rest of the company. I could-I just couldn’t! You are too important. All of you! And Laketown! I couldn’t abandon the quest either. I was..trapped. I just, I just I did what I had to do!” And then she threw her hands up in disgust, “You cannot hold that against me! There was so much at stake and I had to make a decision. I'm sorry if it's not what YOU would have done, but it does not matter! And it isn’t the time for this, you stubborn dwarf! We need to figure things out. We can’t just stand about all day, now can we?!” 

Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Save me from the stubbornness of hobbits,” he grumbled. His eyes flashed back to the flustered hobbit before him, “Do you not understand what YOU might mean to this company?”

Lyla stilled at that remark, the heat rising on her neck as she peered back silently.

Thorin turned back towards Kili

“Or you?” He questioned the young dwarf prince. “Do neither of you understand that?” 

And then Thorin sighed, his anger seeming to deflate slightly as he gazed between the hobbit and his nephew. 

He shook his head and groaned.

“Of all the things I could be given…” And trailed with a sigh.

And then Thorin adjusted his stance lowered his hands to his sides, gazing about the small alcove, his eyes hard and calculating.

“We’ll deal with this later,” He grumbled eyes narrowing slightly as they rested on Lyla, “For now,” He turned towards Balin, “We need a plan.” 

The mountain shook again and Lyla swallowed back the fear that was building in her chest. 

Smaug could do a few things. He could bring down the mountain around them. 

They’d be crushed.

Or the slithering, fire-breather could trap them, block the doorway, head back into his treasure room and blast hot air onto the company. 

They’d either die from the heat or lack of food and other supplies. 

Neither sounded pleasant. 

But…

Lyla’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned towards Balin who had a resigned look on his face.

Lyla KNEW that look.

“We’ll have to go into the treasure room and arm ourselves,” Balin finally murmured, gazing at Thorin who visibly stiffened and started to protest, “NO lad,” Balin cut off Thorin’s remarks, “It’s not an ideal plan, but it’s really the only option we have. If we’re to survive somehow, we’ll need to do somethin’ about it.”

Oh…

She would have laughed, too, if their situation weren’t so uncomfortable.

Balin was right of course. 

It was the ONLY option they really had at the moment.

But…

It was just as foolhardy and Tookish as anything she could have concocted. 

And Thorin knew it. 

He muttered darkly, his hands balling into fists, and then cleared his throat, “Into the treasure room. Now.”

*****  
Thorin shot a glare at the hobbit standing before him. She returned the glare with one of her own, her eyes challenging and guarded.

Lyla knew that this plan was just as foolish as hers had been.

Just as foolish as Kili’s actions.

And THORIN knew that there was nothing they could do to change the plan either. They’d have to face this.

Oh but he knew that Lyla wasn’t likely to forget this

He growled lowly at the thought. 

*****  
When they exited the banquet hall a flurry of activity exploded around Bard, who stood in a dazed wonder, trying to absorb it all. 

Everywhere he looked, parents with their children’s tiny hands clasped within their own, darted towards the trees, grabbing whatever small supplies they could in the short time they’d been allotted. 

Thranduil stood near Gandalf, talking quietly with the wizard who was leaning on his staff, his gaze shifting between the elf-king and gazing thoughtfully off into the forest. And just beyond them, nearest to the tree line stood the startled former master of Laketown, his outer coat had been stripped from him and the giant bear stood like a terrifying sentinel, guarding the man, preventing any escape. 

The bear itself was an oddity that piqued Bard's curiosity. He was certain that there was something...different about the creature (beyond the obvious size) and he was determined to figure out what it was.

Though that didn't mean he wasn't grateful that the creature was allied to THEIR side. 

And while he felt a firm surge of satisfaction for The Master's current predicament, the cool fingers of suspicion and dread wrapped around him, tempering his satisfaction. 

They needed to leave Laketown as quickly as possible. No one knew for sure what might happen.

Orcs?

Smaug?

They couldn’t say for certain, but as Bard watched the birds circle overhead—the same birds that had attacked him earlier—he knew that SOMETHING would come. 

‘Just let us make it to the trees. Just the trees.’ 

But the air felt thick, heavy. Almost as if he could expect a thunderstorm soon. 

He imagined clouds beginning to billow from the far horizon. 

What he saw, however, sent his blood running cold. 

A shape, a dark winged shape was turning towards them.

And when he strained his ears, he was able to hear the dull—but piercing—roar of a dragon.

So it was to be Smaug then…

“Go,” He muttered, trying to pull back from the shock he felt, “You must go.”

The shape grew closer and Bard brought forth his bow, his heart hammering.

“Dragon!” he called, louder this time, “Go! You must Go!”

“Into the trees!” He heard Gandalf’s cry, “RUN!”

The dull roar of frightened cries cascaded around Bard as people darted to and fro, their panicked movements blurring.

But Bard did not move, except to grab an arrow and set it loosely onto the string of his bow. 

He let out a low steady breath and braced himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think of this chapter? I'd love to hear from you wonderful people. Because you all ARE quite lovely and wonderful. 
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> And, if you're interested, check out these lovely authors and their works: 
> 
> chappysmom with her vast array of wonderful Sherlock fics: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> And Luckyhai5 with her wonderful fic 'Good Morning':
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	57. Fire and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smaug the Terrible attacks Laketown. 
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/pAxNFchKayM  
> http://youtu.be/KDgivC1CG9w  
> http://youtu.be/nfI0BU5Nu7k

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you. I hope it makes sense! I've been stewing over this section for awhile now and honestly it's niggled my brain and made me rather unhappy. But it would not write any other way so I hope you enjoy it. And as always, thank you for the reviews, the kudos, the hits, all of it. You are the most considerate readers. *hugs*

Lyla stood, wringing her hands together agitatedly as the dwarves milled about, picking weaponry—undamaged by the dragon—off the walls. They grasped various pieces, testing their weight and strength, swinging swords lightly through the air or hefting a large hammer or axe in their arms.

Lyla hadn’t noticed these things from her first look-about in the treasure room. She’s been a bit preoccupied with the dragon, as she had been, it was easy to make such an oversight. 

But she understood, more fully now, the reasoning behind Balin’s suggestion.

He knew that the weapons would be here and that their best chance for success would be to use them in an ambush attack on the dragon. 

Oh, it was indeed a very foolhardy, Tookish sort of plan. 

But the company was taking too long, in the hobbit’s opinion. They were fingering the finely engraved handles of various weapons. She watched Nori’s light touch flit over a few well encrusted swords, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide in astonishment. 

The rest of the company wasn’t much different. Their focus was trained on the weapons, scrutinizing and assessing. They fingered jewels and rubbed their hands over the delicate craftsmanship of their predecessors, trying to choose the perfect weapon to use against Smaug. 

All while trying—mostly unsuccessfully—to keep their gazes from straying to the mountains of gold they stood upon.

Lyla stayed further back, watching the company carefully, the torch in her hand, its orange glow casting shadows upon the walls, gazing around warily. She could see the reaction that the physical presence that this much gold was having on many of the dwarves and it was a bit alarming.

Smaug had not been joking about a dwarf’s attachment to glittering objects. 

Having no such affinity for a pile of golden metal, Lyla’s only concern was to leave the room as quickly as possible. They were already wearing out their luck by lingering THIS long.   
She jumped each time a crash resounded through the mountain as thoughts of fire and roars of furry filled her head. Her hand found its way into her trouser pocket where the ring lay. 

The temptation to disappear was brightly shining in her mind.

But she couldn’t.

‘It would be so easy to slip the ring on and make a run for it. You could escape the dragon and this cursed mountain…’

Lyla frowned at the thought and violently pushed them from her mind. 

No. She couldn’t betray her friends like that. 

She WOULDN’T. Why had she even thought that way? That's not who she was. She was a Baggins...and a Took. And they never went back on their word!

So she stood, trying to keep her resolve—and her knees—firm. She could be strong. She could help the dwarves face down the dragon one more time.

Right?

But Lyla knew something was wrong when the crashes ceased. 

Her heart dropped to her feet and her eyes widened at the knowledge of what this development meant. 

Oh no.

It meant that the dragon was either returning to the cavern... 

Or that he was setting his sights on something else.

Balin, who was standing nearest to the hobbit, stiffened and set aside a small dagger encrusted with jewels, and gazed around with furrowed brows, his eyes darting around the large room.

Lyla turned back towards the tunnel, her heart constricting in worry. 

If Smaug was headed towards Laketown?

Aule no.

A hand, though, stopped her retreat back into the tunnel.

“Lass, don’t go. It might be a trap,” Balin leveled his gaze at the hobbit, his eyes soft with understanding but firm in his request, “And there’s nothing we can do for Laketown. 

Bard’s aware. He’ll protect ‘em. But we need to make it up towards the apartments,” He murmured sending Lyla a worried glance, “If the dragon’s set to come back then…” he trailed off with a small shrug.

Or had it been a shudder? 

Either way, Lyla nodded her head in resigned agreement and slowly slogged through the piles of gold alongside Balin. 

Towards Thorin

“We must make for the upper halls, Lad!” Balin called, to the dwarf king, who was busily inspecting a few of the finer pieces hanging on the wall. Thorin fingered a pair of battle axes, his touch resting against the hilt of one as it sat untouched and hanging near a stairwell. He let out a low sigh before turning to Balin with a soft not of his head. 

“Move to the upper halls.” He called out lowly catching Lyla’s gaze, his eyes hooded and narrowed with worry.

And something Lyla couldn’t quite identify, though it set her on edge.

“Bring as many weapons as you can carry with ease, but nothing more,” the dwarf remarked to Dwalin and Dori, “We need to prepare.” 

*****

Bard’s eye twitched and his breath came in short bursts as the townspeople darted for the trees. 

But the dragon was coming quickly.

Too quickly for everyone to make it to the cover of the forest.

Even with the darkening sky, as afternoon changed into evening, the townspeople were in danger of encountering the wroth of the dragon. 

And even if they made it to the trees? 

Fire was no respecter of persons. It was all consuming, bitterly cruely.

And so were dragons. 

He had to do something.

Draw Smaug’s eye away from the tree line. Away from the people.

He caught Legolas’ eye and the blonde elf nodded in understanding, his blue eyes flashing.

The elf meant to fight alongside him.

Gripping his bow tightly Bard let out a sigh, willing his heart to slow.

And then, with another nod towards Legolas, he darted back toward the center of Laketown, the elf trailing close behind him. 

The roars were increasing, the waves of the lake lapping against the wooden walkways as Bard maneuvered through overturned barrels and wayward crates. 

He spied the building he was looking for—a tall, narrow thing with two small ledges—and with a grim smile, leapt atop the barrels, still stacked neatly next to the doorway, and with a hop, made it onto the ledge above the doorway, skittering up the incline and onto the roof. 

He reached the peak of the rooftop and let out a sharp hiss of alarm and annoyance at the dragon’s growing form.

It was nearly on top of him!

He could see the narrowed yellow eyes shining like beacons against flaming red skin.

He felt the blast of air from the wing beats of the monstrous creature as it descended closer.

Jewels glittered across the beast’s chest, nearly blinding the man as the sunlight bounced off the treasures adorning the dragon’s torso. 

Bard readied his arrow, but panic niggled his brain. 

He didn’t know where to shoot!

“You fools!” Smaug’s deep, piercing voice echoed through the air as he came upon the city, “You aided those foolish dwarves and now my wrath shall be kindled against your pathetic homes!”

With a low breath of prayer, the bowman released his arrow.

An arrow that was easily deflected by the hard armor of Smaug’s jewels. 

With a roar, the dragon swooped down lower (his claws skimming across rooftops), angry flames pouring from the winged creature’s mouth, and igniting the dried, brittle, grey wood as his massive tail battered against walls, shattering homes in twain. 

Bard ducked as the flames burst overheard, rolling to the side as heat dried his lips and singed his clothing. 

“Legolas!” he cried, scrambling to his feet, hoping his one call would be understood by the elf. 

Fortunately, it was.

The blonde elf bowman stood proudly across the way from Bard’s burning rooftop, his arrow trained on the dragon, whose fiery sputtering were quickly engulfing the rickety houses in bright orange flames. 

Legolas released the arrow and with nimble movements, leapt to another rooftop, closer this time, to the dragon, and released another arrow, ducking lowly as Smaug's hind leg shot out to try and catch a hold of the elf warrior.

Bard had jumped to another roof (one less treacherous than the last) and readied another arrow, noting neither of the elf’s had even made the dragon flinch either. 

But they did turn the beast’s attention back towards the two of them and away from the fleeing townspeople in the trees.

“YOU!” the dragon snarled circling around, glaring at Bard,“You think that I do not recognize your features? You are a descendent of the king of Dale!”

Bard’s eyes widened in surprise.

How could he have possibly known…?

“And, you aided that creature. That filthy, thieving creature! Sent it to spy on me, did you? Fancied some of the gold, perhaps? Parasites!”

Bard didn’t have time to release his arrow as the flames descended upon him. The dragon had aimed right at the man!

He dropped the arrow as he leapt from the room into a lower area, coughing as the smoke filled his lungs and dimmed his vision, flames licking at his boots and igniting his jacket.  
He threw the coat off quickly, dumping the material into the lake, send up a low hiss of steam as it dropped into the icy water. 

“You will pay for insulting my power, my prowess!” Smaug snarled his jaws snapping together with a loud click.

Bard covered his head as more flames erupted around him.

Crouching on his belly, he managed to stay beneath the cloud of smoke as he shuffled his body nearer to the water and behind a large stack of barrels that hadn’t caught fire yet.  
He was safely hidden for the moment. 

But could still make out the dragon’s smoky visage above him. 

“We have to move!” Legolas cried above the cracking flames, splashing, lapping water and the horrendous roars of an enraged dragon. He knelt at the man’s side, his own bow still clutch firmly in his thin hands. “We must make for the edge of the city.”

The elf’s eyes were wide and brightly shining, a beacon of blue against the warm, orange background, as he stared imploringly at Bard.

“No!” Bellowed Bard agitatedly, “It will lead the dragon right to the townspeople! We can’t do that.”

A few beams cracked and splintered overhead, sending a spray of ashes and hot coals atop the man and the elf. 

Bard coughed and brushed the burning embers off his coat and from his hair.

“We don’t have much of a choice! If we stay here, the flames will consume us!” Legolas hissed, shaking the debris from his own hair.

The bowman, understood the elf’s logic, but ignored Legolas’ inquiries and gazed around searching, for some place that he could climb to, a higher vantage point to shoot another arrow. 

Most of his surroundings were quickly being devoured by the dragon’s kiss of fury. 

But, there, to his right, he could make out a smaller house, still relatively devoid of the larger flames, creeping up the walls like vines up a tree.   
His gaze flashed between the building and the dragon. 

He’d have to adjust his stance and angle his arrow higher.

But…

It would have to do. 

Covering his nose and mouth the sleeve of one arm and holding tightly to his weapon, Bard lurched to his feet and darted across the walkway, jumping over a small patch of flames that were consuming the ramp. His eyes stung from the smoke and his face felt dried out from the heat.

But the flames and smoke did provide a bit of a cloak for him to hide behind, away from the dragon’s roaming gaze. 

He just hoped it would be enough. 

Removing his arm from his face, Bard grabbed hold of the lower slanting roof and levered himself upwards, his feet scrambling to gain traction against the grainy siding of the wooden structure. He could feel the heat licking at his boots as sweat trickled down his temple and slid down the back of his neck.

With a grunt of exertion, he slowly hoisted himself upwards and scrambled to his feet, pulling another arrow and prepared his aim, his eyes watering from the sting of the smoke.   
The dragon was higher overhead, swooping every few moments, his snarls ripping through the sky interspersed between bursts of flame coming from his lips. 

Bard squinted through the billows of smoke and assessed the distance and the likelihood that he’d make a connection with the dragon’s skin. 

It wasn’t too promising.

Bard hesitated on releasing his arrow, his heart pounding in his ear.

He didn’t know where to shoot. 

But then an idea.

“Legolas!” He called lowly, “What do your elf eyes see? Can you make anything out that might aid us?”

The bowman hazarded a glance towards the elf who had climbed atop a crumbling building, his light gait easily supported by the weakening timber.

At least for the moment.

The elf narrowed his eyes and peered upward at the dragon, his own bow in hand, arrow waiting to be released.

“I see,” the elf murmured leaning forward slightly and tilting his head, “something protruding from the dragon’s chest. I can’t quite make it out with this smoke.”

Bard gazed back at the dragon, who had spied them and was diving towards them again, a snarl soaring ahead of his massive claws and flaming breath.

He half expected the dragon to dive beneath the surface of the lake and fill the air with a steaming mist.

But he did not. Instead, the dragon attacked head on. 

Both bowmen fired their arrows, and made to jump as Smaug’s thick legs impaled the buildings, his claws scratching, crushing and crunching the wood into splinters.

More roofs caught fire, their thin, thatching going up in a flurry of ash as flames leapt to the cross beams of the homes, crackling and spitting as they devoured the wood. 

Bard was knocked from his feet, by the rounded edge of one of Smaug’s claws, and he went tumbling downwards, bits of planks and boards falling on him as he landed with groan of pain on the walkway below. 

The man coughed violently and rolled to his side, hissing as a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, nearly forcing him to lose grip of his bow. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he stumbled to his feet, choking and sputtering to clear his lungs. 

Through the growing smoke cloud, he could make out the dragon’s silhouetted, flapping overhead.

His eyes stung as the wind kicked up and the smoke drifted in his face as he stumbled along the walkway, closer to the dragon.

The curling orange flames contorted and blurred Bard’s surroundings.

He had to get closer to the shore, to fresh air.

It was a risk, but he was certain that Thranduil’s guards wouldn’t sit idly by and let the townspeople be slaughtered. 

He’d have to trust in the good word of the elves and hope that luck was with them. 

He knew though, as Legolas darted ahead of him, that there was still hope. 

*****  
“Ready the men,” Thranduil called to his closest guard as he watched Esgaroth go up in flames. 

He knew the dragon would come towards the fleeing people as soon as the distractions in Laketown ceased. 

His son. 

Bard. 

The only two creatures standing between a dragon’s fury and the decimation of a people. 

The elf king’s eyes narrowed as he gazed up at the sky, assessing the dragon’s movements, waiting for the moment when the beast would charge towards them.

He saw two arrows dart through the air and bounce harmlessly off of the dragon’s tough skin.

And then the flames and cries of the dragon increased.

Smaug laid waste to the city.

Thranduil frowned, his thoughts turning to his son and the role that he had played in this convoluted mess.

If anything happened…

He watched the dragon circle the city once, his cries filling the air.

“You are all fools!” the beast bellowed, “Fools to trust the dwarves. Fools to contend against my might. None shall be spared.”

Thranduil cast his eyes about quickly, noting that there were still many families retreating from the bank of the lake and further into the forest. 

The giant bear was still guarding the now frightened former master of laketown, dragging the plump man by the scruff of his shirt into the woods.

It was then that the dragon spotted the retreating townspeople as they scurried into protective embrace of the darkened woods. 

Smaug snarled and lunged towards them, his wings beating furiously through the air sending blasts of wind into Thranduil’s face

“Prepare your bows,” he called lowly raising his hand to the ready, fingers outstretched. “Be prepared to dodge fire.” 

“This had better be worth it, Mithrandir,” He murmured softly to the grey wizard who stood to his right, “That hobbit and her dwarves had better be worth it.”

*****

Bard’s breath was caught in his throat as he watched a shower of arrows sail through the night sky, their white shafts glittering against the darkness of the evening and contrasting the orange flames the engulfed the entirety of Laketown. 

He watched, terrified, as Smaug took no heed of the attack and torpedoed lowly towards the trees. His massive tail whipped and slashed, connecting with the trees, splintering wood and sending up a flurry of leaves. 

The elves and men ducked to avoid the onslaught of violence by the claws and tail of the dragon, but some were struck and sent careening backwards further into the woods as Smaug passed by. 

He noted that Thranduil and Gandalf were crouched lowly gazing up at the dragon as the elf kind continued to shout commands

"Reform the line and prepare to strike again!" He bellowed, slowly rising to his full height. 

He heard the cries of pain and alarm erupting from the forest and his heart constricted in fury. 

The dragon snarled and hissed as he circled around once more.

Bard dove behind a boulder along the shoreline as flames swirled overhead.

He heard the dragon laugh lowly.

“Pathetic creatures! You’ll learn that I am nothing to be trifled with. I will end you. Crush you one by one and feast upon your corpses!”

Bard stayed low, drawing forth his black arrow. The only arrow he had left in his possession (the other having fallen out when he tumbled)

He was close to the beast. Probably closer than he would ever be again. 

He’d have to take another shot.

But he needed to make it count. 

He couldn’t miss this time.

Bard let out a shaky breath as he watched Smaug circlet he perimeter of the town once more, his swooping wing beats lowering closer to the ground than ever before. The man could see the sinister fury brewing in the golden orbs of the dragon.

It was time.

But just as he was prepared to stand and fire, a small fluttering creature darted from the darkness and landed on his shoulder, a loud chirping ringing in his ears. 

The thrush!

The man sank lower to the ground as Smaug passed overhead, spewing fire towards the trees, igniting branches and sending people screaming in terror and pain. 

The twang of bowstrings rang in his ears as more arrows assailed the dragon.

The bird murmured fervently in his ear.

‘Wait!’ he thought he heard as the tiny beak nipped at his earlobe, ‘The hobbit discovered a weakness.’

Bard’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he turned his gaze towards the bird. 

“Did she indeed?” He murmured with a fascinated awe at the thought.

A tiny hobbit facing down an enormous dragon. How utterly bizarre a notion.

“What are the chances…” He trailed off turning his head towards the bird, a new resolve burning in his belly. 

“What is this weakness?” He questioned the spritely little creature nestled on his shoulder, the bird’s feathers ruffled in the wind.

It flapped its wings a few times and gave a series of adamant chirps.

‘Left breast. There’s an opening in his armor. Look! There in the moonlight’

Bard gazed at Smaug’s silhouette, a dark contrast to the growing moonlight cascading over the desolation and destruction surrounding him. But there, just as the thrush said, a bright patch of white illuminated like a beacon in the light.

‘The hobbit made it bigger. You can use your arrow.’

Bard squinted his eyes as he gazed at the patch on the left breast, assessing the likelihood that he could connect his arrow with the soft tissue of the dragon’s underbelly..  
And then he gave a smirk of satisfaction. 

Someone’s arrow had already pierced the skin of the beast, it seemed.

He could do the same.

The man stood again as he gazed at Smaug’s returning form warily, preparing for the right moment.

Now, he knew where to aim.

“You will all pay, you thieving rats!” Smaug growled as the growing moonlight flashed across his jeweled armor. 

All except for the one pale patch.

Bard notched his black arrow carefully into his bow, pulling the string taut to his ear, the black feathers brushing against his cheek.

He watched.

He waited.

Even as more arrows soared towards Smaug.

He waited.

Until the beast was nearly on top of him.

And then he released his arrow. 

‘You’ve never failed before’ he thought reverently, ‘don’t fail now. By Aule, don’t fail now.’

The prized black arrow—a gift from the dwarves long ago—flew straight, with an impressive speed, sailing through the night sky.

It connected with soft skin, slicing through the dragon’s chest with the greatest of ease, the entire shaft of the arrow (feathers included) disappearing beneath the skin of the now roaring beast.

Smaug howled in surprise, giving a sudden lurch, his clawed legs twitching as he cried out in pain.

The dragon did not spew fire as he circled around his once graceful movements turning into spasms and convulsions as he howled.

“You cannot have done it!” he cried, “I was…protected…”

He sent a glare down to Bard who stood watching the dragon carefully. 

He was out of arrows and couldn’t defend himself when the beast circled around again, panting and gasping, and dove towards Bard a furious determination glinting in his bright   
yellow orbs.

But then Legolas was there, bow in hand and firing rapid shots at the exposed chest that was slowly trickling blood. 

The dragon jerked backwards, his wings sputtering as two arrows connected with his chest, burrowing deeply into the skin.

A weakened cry escaped his mouth as he rose up higher into the sky, shying away from the men. 

Everyone had stilled, watching the image before them.

The dragon flapped his wings harder, rising higher, anguished, strained cries echoing through the night air. 

A soft tap on his shoulder, and Bard turned to see an arrow extended towards him.

“One more should do it,” Legolas remarked carefully, his eyes hooded.

Bard took the arrow without question and notched it into his bow.

Smaug was spasming, his tail twitching. Legs jerking a he panted and gasped.

Bard pulled the string back one more time.

He narrowed his eyes at the creature, flashes of Freida’s smiling face floating through his mind as he concentrated on his shot.

She would have been proud.

Bard gave a quick nod of his head, and released the arrow. 

The connection was swift and sent the dragon spinning and jerking. With a shriek that deafened the men and elves who stood gazing in wonder at the sky, ignoring the splintered trees, crushed rocks and burning town as the dragon sputtered flames from his mouth, choking and wobbling in the air. 

And then the wing beats stilled, the head drooped and Smaug the terrible rolled on his back and plummeted into the lake, landing atop the remnants of the smoldering Laketown. 

A large rush of water splashed into the air washing over Bard and spraying some of the burning trees. A great rush of white, billowing steam engulfed the people, distorting their vision. 

Many gave cries of joy and the bowman could hear the rapid footsteps of men and elves as they dashed to great loved ones.

But Bard stayed still, watching the water rippled and slosh over bright red scales and fiery orange flames. 

Smaug the terrible lay dead upon the blackened, ashen remnants of Laketown.

The bowman blinked a few times and then let out a low sigh of relief as water dripped down his face, mixing in with the ash upon his cheeks.

It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Was it worth the wait? What did you think of Bard? Legolas? Thranduil? It was a bit of a different approach so I'm curious to see how you'll respond to it. Feel free to sound off in the comments. 
> 
> And take a gander at these lovely authors: 
> 
> chappysmom with her remarkable collection of Sherlock fics: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> Luckyhai5's wonderful au 'Good Morning':
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> And KookooKarli's splendid work: 'Not The Typical Hobbit Lass':
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/884729/chapters/1704661


	58. Things to Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination of thoughts and feelings...
> 
> Music for this chapter: (and I highly suggest you take a listen)  
> http://youtu.be/NHk1P9iwOQQ  
> http://youtu.be/LaLegF2hAxI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, my lovely readers, about the slight delay with this chapter. I've stewed over it for days, trying to get it to turn out the way I needed it to and I'm still not quite satisfied...but I hope you might enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and critiques that I've received these last few days! Your thoughts and support are certainly appreciated.

It was like stepping into a dream. 

The further Thorin walked into the mountain, upwards into the halls above the treasure room, the more surreal everything felt. 

The treasure room had elicited a giddy swelling in his heart and made a smile creep on his face as he peered at pile after pile of gold and gems.

But stepping into the old apartments, the old homes of his people, left him staggering with memories that the gold could never conjure to his mind. 

It was heartless, devoid of any substantial association to his childhood or his relationships (other than some unpleasant ones). But these halls, these homes?

They brought things to mind, memories, ideas, thoughts.

All tucked away in his brain until the moment he’d returned.

A thick layer of dust covered every crevice of the hallway. The once shining wood of the long table that adorned one wall, sat muted, dilapidated and worn.

He hadn’t been here since he was young. 

He ran a hand along one of the walls, skimming over tapestries and smoothed stone, kicking up small puffs of dust as he rustled the fabric. But, even with age and neglect, the fade blue material still bore the family insignia and it still shone proudly, woven into the fabrics with fine golden thread. 

He headed up a second flight of steps, gazing around quietly, reverently. 

He hadn’t seen these things since he’d been forced out by the fire breathing demon.

Years. 

Decades.

He’d been away so long. 

And in that time he’d experienced so much.

Been forced to grown up. Hardened and battle-weary.

Frerin and Dis’ faces flashed through his mind.

Moria. 

Thror and Thrain

Death and destruction

Constantly running, searching.

Displaced. 

Crownless. 

Thorin narrowed his eyes and frowned, his anger rising.

They’d been away so long. And now they stood, so close to victory, so close to redemption. 

So close.

And he wouldn’t let that dragon best him again. This time he was going to catch him by surprise. This time he would prove that this mountain was his home.

That treasure was his birthright. 

This time he would prove he was a king. 

The dwarf jerked violently when a hand came to rest on his arm. 

He turned to find Lyla gazing up at him with her wide, innocent hazel eyes. Her brows were furrowed and a small frown splayed on her lips. 

Next to her stood Balin. His gaze just a curious and worried, though a small smile of understanding filtered across his face. 

“Are you alright?” the hobbit murmured lowly, kindly as she gazed up at him through her long lashes.

Thorin swallowed. 

The innocence of her question, the sincerity shining in her gaze brought a gentle warmth to his chest, easing (slightly) the tension rolling through his muscles. Tempering his fury for the moment. 

He gave her a soft smile. “Yes. I was just…thinking,” He remarked, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as they came to the top of the landing and the long hall that designated the first set of apartments within the mountain. 

The rest of the company was traversing the dusty walkway with hesitant steps and low murmurs as they gazed around.

But for Thorin, the silence of the halls was deafening. 

“It has been a long time since I’ve walked these steps.”

“That’s certainly true. This brings a few things fresh to mind,” Balin remarked gazing around in a reverent awe and reminding Thorin that out of all of their company, Balin would understand his feelings.

He’d been there too. He’d experienced everything Thorin had. From the very beginning of this long journey all those years ago, Balin had always been there. 

He’d suffered loss as well. 

Lyla looked between the two dwarves and then nodded in understanding her eyes darkening a shade as pain flashed through her eyes—he noted—a she turned to gaze around the room, giving the two of them a moment of peace. 

A moment to grasp onto the reality of the moment.

A heaviness settled in his heart and he wondered for a moment if all of the dredged up memories, if all the pain was worth it for this mountain. 

*****

Bard wasn’t quite sure what to think.

Here he stood on the banks of Long Lake, staring out into the icy water, where steam rose like billowing clouds above the smolder city of Laketown.

Above the large body of a dragon tyrant, that was no more.

He blinked a few times, flexed his fingers slowly, as he loosened his grip on his bow.

He had to assure himself that it wasn’t a dream, that this moment was real, because the silence was deafening.

Silence brought doubt ringing to his mind.

But no matter how many times he blinked, the image never faded. Steam and smoke still swirled together, twirling and melding into the darkened sky. The stench of burned timber assaulted his nose and made his eyes sting and water. 

They’d done it. 

They’d actually done it. 

He suddenly felt light.

Almost sickeningly so. His limbs were wobbly, his breathing quick, his heart beat loudly and swiftly against his ribs.

And suddenly it was like the world sprang to life, renewed by the dragon’s demise.

Though not all was pleasant.

Low cries of pain filtered into Bard’s ears and he turned back to see the trees still ablaze, people darting away from falling branches and smoke.

Some were hobbling, limping, grabbing onto each other for support.

Some weren’t moving at all and the bowman frowned at the sight.

They’d defeated the dragon, but they hadn’t come out unscathed. 

He noted that many of the elves were assisting the weakened men and women, wrapping wounds moving the children away from the blazing trees.

Bard caught Gandalf’s eye as the grey wizard slowly approached the bowman. 

“We must make for Thranduil’s halls. There is nothing left for you here. The wounded need tending to. The dead need buried.”

‘The dead need buried’

The thought pulsed through his brain.

‘The dead need buried’

‘The dead’

Guilt knotted his stomach and deflated his lungs, sucking the momentary joy he’d experienced. How many might have survived if the dwarves and their company had not entered   
into this part of the world? Better still, how many would have survived if The Master had not installed wickedness and corruption into their town?

And how many more would have been saved if he had better aim?

“Do not think such thinks Bard of Dale.” Gandalf snapped and the bowman’s eyes widened in surprise. 

How did he…?

“Your expression tells me quite a bit about your inner turmoil,” Gandalf remarked his eyes sparkling beneath the brim of bushy eyebrows and a wide brimmed hat. “I will say it again, though, do not think such things. You have done honorably by your people. You have given them a new life, a new hope. There’s a lot to be thankful for. Do not carry the weight of the dead.”

“There are a lot of things I could have done differently,” He murmured gazing around thoughtfully, a sense of gratitude for the solicitous nature of the elves filling his veins, “So many things I could have made right sooner. I wish we could have avoided this conflict entirely.”

“So do all who live to see such times and experience such evils. But you do not control all things,” Gandalf rebuked, narrowing his eyes, giving the man a firm look, “Nor should you seek to. Death is never desired or warranted. But it is also not something we can control. We cannot determine the hour or the moment when we face that step onto the white shores of a new life. But,” He gave Bard a small, thoughtful smile, “What we can decide is what to do with the time that is given to us now. You have done a great good, but I fear that there is more evil working against you and against Thorin Oakenshield. We must prepare and we must secure the lives of these innocent people.” 

Bard nodded slowly his thoughts shifting with his gaze as he watched the people. They were frail. They were weak. They were tired, hurt, hungry. 

And they needed shelter. 

“What do you know of this enemy then?” He questioned, “I know that The Master,” He spat the word, “Had some alliances, though I do not know with whom. What can you tell me?”  
Gandalf sighed, appearing suddenly very old in that moment, “Not much, master bowman.” He remarked darkly, distractedly, “But I do know someone who can shed some light on the situation. His name is Beorn.” 

“And what of the dwarves? The hobbit?” Bard questioned curiously, “Surely we must inform them of the situation? How are we to do that and avoid this enemy?”

Gandalf smiled at the question, “Yes. We must inform them. But as it is, they are far more safe than we are at the moment.”

“I’m certain they’d be curious to hear Smaug’s fate, though,” Bard pressed, “We must inform them.”

“Yes, and we will. I believe I know how it is to be done. And with very little inconvenience too. Beorn can help on that score as well.” 

Gandalf outstretched his hand.

“But first we have other things to attend to,” He remarked “What are your orders?”

Bard looked surprised at the questioned and gazed around, his eyebrows rising in alarm as he noted that several of the men and elves were standing near him, their gazes fixed on the bowman, waiting and expectant.

Oh.

“My father,” Legolas’ voice forced Bard’s eyes towards the golden haired elf that had come to stand near the wizard and the bowman, his own bow hanging over his shoulder, “has offered his home for the time being. Until we can assess the situation further.”

“My sincerest appreciation goes to you and your father, then,” Bard nodded and then turned back towards the men gazing back at wearied, worn, faces.

“Gather what supplies we have and be prepared to march at first light. But,” Bard hesitated, taking in the exhausted pale complexions, “Get as much rest as possible. We’ll be setting a quick pace.” 

And then Bard frowned. He turned towards one of the men, a tall fellow with sooty, blonde hair and one who looked far more fit than some of the others. “We must get some men together,” He remarked to the man. “We must take care of the dead.”

*****

Lyla’s nerves were fraying as she sat, huddled on the floor, her knees tucked to her chest. Her fingers were twitching in agitation, her heart thrumming against her chest in a swift beat. 

Her mind was buzzing, her thoughts tinged with worry and fear. 

It had been too long since she’d heard any noise from the dragon.

Hours maybe?

She was certain the creature was not back lounging on his bed of gold. And that meant that he was patrolling the skies or worse…

Descending upon Laketown.

The hiss and crackle of fire

A dragon’s roar of anger

Screams of agony and horror

The Master’s Laughter 

All of it echoed inside her head

The thoughts made her stomach roll uncomfortably, the bile rising to her throat. She squeezed her legs closer to her chest and slammed her eyes.

Because she knew who was to blame for THAT issue.

For all of it.

And while part of her understood that with war or discord hard decisions must be made, she didn’t believe that she would be the one the make them. 

Guilt lanced her.

She’d never considered how many lives she could affect with her decision to go on this adventure.

She’d never considered how many people she could hurt. 

Not initially at least.

Part of her wished that everything could be resolved easily. That a warm meal and a few good laughs could ease tensions and solve problems. 

It usually worked that way in The Shire.

But, and Lyla sighed, most disputes in The Shire were focused on missing crops or pilfered silver.

Not on a mountain of gold.

But this was not The Shire.

She was contending against dragons, and wicked men vying for power and wealth. 

And she knew she could not have everything she hope. She could not gain peace. Not with a vain and selfish beast like Smaug or The Master.

She knew that was impossible.

But the pain of that realization still struck her hard.

And coupled with this pain was a concerning thought that crept into her mind. 

Ever since she’d reentered the treasure room with the rest of the company. Something seemed to settle over the dwarves. They were fascinated by the trinkets and baubles and glittering gems. They talked of the beauty of the piles of gold coins, whispered of the fortune they’d inherit if they were successful. 

And that’s all they talked for the last few hours. 

Most of them anyway. 

Balin, Dwalin and Ori had remained someone detached from the pull of the gold.

But as for the rest?

Even Thorin was distracted somewhat. Though he spent the majority of his time conversing with Balin and Dwalin about attack strategies, she noted how his gaze would shift every now and then, to lock onto the glittering hilt of an axe or one of Fili’s many pilfered daggers. 

But then he’d meet her eyes and give a soft smile.

And for a moment Lyla would forget why she was worried.

And then the small whispers she’d become familiar with would return as she continued to watch the company and the fear would double.

Something seemed a bit…

Odd…

Which is why she’d tucked away in the back of the hall. She couldn’t stand to look at the others of the moment and wonder and fret over them. They looked content enough. They were smiling and laughing. Bofur was sitting near Bombur and Nori while Bifur, Dori and Oin were crouched together sitting quietly, admiring the weapons they’d acquired.

They all looked normal.

Except…

She couldn’t put her finger on what was different.

But there was something. And she needed to clear her head. Needed a chance to think, to sort through things.

So, with torch in hand, she’d entered one of the last doorways and came upon a rather large room, devoid of furnishings other than a small table and a worn and dusty desk. On the wall though were dozens of tapestries, each unique from the other. Some were in golds, others greens and blues. Intricate patterns and fine stitching hallmarked all the creations that hung proudly before her, testaments to older days, happier days.

It was here that she sat, knees tucked, torch by her side, gazing around in the inky silence, waiting with baited breath for something to happen.

Lyla frowned as longing filled her.

Longing for simpler times.

Longing for happier times. Not just for her, mind you, but for everyone. 

What would it have been like if Erebor had never been attacked? If The Master had never taken power over Laketown? 

If her parents had never died…

How might it have changed things?

How might have changed all of them?

‘Bah!’ She straightened her legs and willed all the thoughts to abate, willed all the faces of anguish to cease (though they would not) 

‘You’re doing no good sitting in a corner.’ She chastised herself, ‘You cannot change things now. What’s done is done. You just have to hope for the best.’

She could have sworn that she heard that low hissing whisper tickling her ear, but she shook her head to expel that notion.

She was becoming far too worried about things.

“Lass?”

Lyla’s head jerked up and she gazed in surprise at Balin standing in the doorway, his face pulled into a soft smile.

“Why’re ye sitting back here all alone?” He queried quietly stepping into the room and gazing around at the tapestries upon the walls. “Ye’d be better off with the rest of the company.” His smile grew as his gaze settled back on the hobbit, “I know of at least five very protect dwarves who’d be right upset if they caught ye back here alone.”

Lyla sighed resignedly, but a smile lit her face all the same. “I understand,” she began, “I just...I just needed a moment to…think things through. To…understand everything.”

With a small groan, Balin came to sit next to the hobbit, his hand giving hers a gentle squeeze as he smiled at her, “Aye, I understand that. But tell me, Lassie,” His smile dimmed a little, “What’s troublin’ ye?”

The old dwarf’s brow was furrowed, his eyes soft and imploring. 

Lyla felt a lump form in her throat. 

His eyes were the same color as her father’s and his smile was soft, inviting and warm. 

She could tell him, she supposed. But…

She shook her head lightly, “No, no it’s alright. I’m alright. I’m fine.”

Balin snorted and frowned at her, “Aye, he said ye’d use that phrase!” The dwarf chuckled, “Always eager to downplay yer feelings I see. Not unlike a certain dwarf you know.”

Balin winked at Lyla.

“But, I’ll not leave ye be until ye tell me what’s troublin’ yer mind. I see those wheels turnin’. Something’s got yer mind in a fix. Best talk of it now.”

Lyla gazed up at the tapestries thoughtfully, trying to assess the best way to approach her concerns. 

She didn’t want to offend anyone.

But she understood Balin’s logic. He was right. Even if she wasn’t particularly fond of divulging information, she also noted, the dwarf’s sincere inquiry could offer her some answers, some reassurance. 

And this was important. If it meant protecting the others somehow, or understanding their needs or their attitude better…

Well she’d try anything.

She wouldn’t discuss Laketown, though. 

That was her guilt to bear for now.

“I just,” she began slowly, choosing her word carefully, “I just wonder about something that Thorin mentioned a few days ago and something that the…dragon,” she hesitated at the word, “mentioned again.”

Balin sat up straighter, his face twisting into one of curiosity and hesitation, “What might that be, then, lass?”

Lyla took a deep breath and met the dwarf’s gaze straight on as she squared her shoulders.

“What is this…fascination with gold and dwarves?” she questioned quietly, “Thorin mentioned something about his grandfather having ‘gold sickness’? What’s that and can he get it too? And the others?”

Balin looked genuinely surprised by her question, his mouth fell open slightly, his brows rising nearly to his hairline.

“Thorin told of you that?” He remarked utterly flummoxed, “And the dragon mentioned it as well?”

Lyla nodded slowly, Er…yes? He just mentioned that dwarves loved gold nearly as much as dragons. And…” She hesitated a moment trying to piece together her thoughts, “And I just-I just want to know if something is likely to happen, what must I do? What must I look out for? I can’t just let you all suffer if this ‘gold sickness’ strikes, right?”

She waited, watching a myriad of emotion flit across the dwarf’s face as he processed what she had asked and remarked on. 

“Aye lassie,” The white haired dwarf finally remarked rubbing his hand over his beard thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to gaze at the room, “Aye that is a concern.”

His gaze shifted back towards the doorway and then towards to the hobbit.

“Gold sickness,” he remarked, “is similar to the dragon’s lust for gold. A dwarf…” he sighed, “particularly one in a high position such as Thror, can be more susceptible to the illness because they are constantly exposed to the treasury and the like.” 

A shot of panic lanced her, “So Thorin could get it?” 

Balin nodded, “It does seem to run in his bloodline. When Thror was struck…it was,” Balin frowned, “It was as if the king we had known was gone. His whole demeanor changed. 

His anger was swift, his judgments swifter and he never brooked opposition…even by his son or grandson. He became a tyrant of sorts.”

Lyla’s heart started to beat quicker.

Thorin.

Oh Aule was this all a mistake? 

“What…” she tried to swallow the fear back as the hissing whispers tickled her ear, “What can we do?”

Balin gave her a sorrowful smile, “I don’t know, Lass. I truly don’t know.” 

*****  
The men were working, counting the survivors, cataloging provisions and—along with the elves—preparing to march towards Thranduil’s halls at first light.

A small group was digging. Preparing for the hasty burials that would ensue at first light.

Legolas, Bard, Gandalf and Thranduil, however, were otherwise occupied. 

While Bard was concerned for the people and ensuring that the dead were properly honored, the knowledge that more evil lurked in the shadows, waiting to descend upon the people of Esgaroth, weighed heavily on his mind. 

And there was one person he could converse with to gain information o that score. 

The former master of Laketown who sat guarded by the large, hulking bear creature. 

Fury, cold and biting, flashed in the man’s eyes as he sat, his knees pressed into the soft mud, his face ashen and soot covered, his hair in disarray.

His great, bright coat was missing. 

The man narrowed his eyes (gagged as he was) and shifted his arms, trying to work his bound wrists free.

The bear snarled at the man’s movements and started to advance towards the now, shocked, wide-eyed prisoner.

“Beorn!” Gandalf admonished, “That is quite enough! We need him to talk and he’s not very likely to do that when he’s dead, now is he?” 

Bard cast a startled glance at the grey wizard.

Beorn.

“But, isn’t that-“

The remark died in his throat as the bear suddenly lunged forward, and shifted, blurred and then came to a standstill.

Changed.

Instead of a large bear, a man stood before the gathered group, his bushy beard framing a large, sarcastic smile.

A shocked murmur erupted through the campsite where several of the men had been watching the exchange between Bard, the two elf leaders and the grey wizard. 

No one had expected to see a bear transform into a man.

Beorn chuckled darkly, “Indeed, I am Beorn, Master Bowman and if you’d kindly take your jaw from the ground, I believe we have some matters to discuss with this prisoner,” The bear-man sent a glare at the still wide-eyed former master who now seemed to want to melt into the mud beneath his knees. 

Bard snapped his mouth shut and sent an inquisitive look at Gandalf who in normal wizardly fashion, seemed completely unperturbed by the whole event. 

So too, did the elves. 

Bard cleared his throat and willed himself not to send a glare at his allies for not informing him of this…unique development.

Instead he turned back towards the man in the mud and Master Beorn, stepping closer to their prisoner. 

Crouching down, Bard caught the man’s narrowed eyes as he slowly started to undo the knotted handkerchief gagging the man. He could smell and see the sweat matting the man’s stringy, blonde hair, trickling down round his face and coating his clothing as he removed the fabric from the former master’s mouth. 

Once the man’s mouth was free, he spat at Bard, his eyes narrowing further.

“You think that I would assist you?” he snarled contemptuously, like a wounded wild animal caught in a trap. “You think that I would throw away my chance at survival?”

The Bowman stepped back and wiped the spittle from his cheek as Beorn snarled in reply.

“Who do you think has control over that, pathetic little man. These people hold your fate in their hands,” he took a step closer to the man in the mud and peered down at the floundering man. “You can tell them of what you know or choose to remain silent. But, either way, little creature, you’ll not escape your judgment.” 

And then the former master of Laketown did something that Bard did not expect. 

He started laughing.

His belly rolled and moved as the man threw his head back an chortled at the top of his lungs. 

“Oh you pathetic lot!” he crowed, “You know not what is in store! You know not how far reaching the hand of evil has extended.” 

He shot a glare at Gandalf.

“Even you, wizard, are unprepared for the battle that is to come! The hour is far later than you realize!”

He turned his snarling, red face towards Bard again and smirk contemptuously, “You think you’ve won a victory this night? Ha. Your people will starve or be laid to waste before this is all over. There is something, beyond the evil of Smaug coming for you, coming for those dwarves…” He snarled again, “and that pathetic little simpering hobbit they keep as a pet.”

Bard didn’t have a chance to blink as Beorn’s large hand connected to the former master’s face, sending the man’s head whipping to the side as the rest of his body careened backwards into the mud with a splattering ‘squelch’, sending a spray of mud onto Bard’s boots.

The former master of Laketown did not move to rise, or snap a retort.

He’s been knocked out.

Bard turned towards the giant man standing to his left, his eyes wide with surprise. 

If one blow could silence a man of THAT size…

“Master Beorn,” Gandalf admonished, “Was that really necessary?”

Bard watched silently as the bear-man turned his glare from the unconscious man in the mud towards the grey wizard.

“You said not to kill him, so I didn’t,” Beorn retorted flippantly, his voice laced with malice, “But that doesn’t mean I’ll sit and let him insult those I hold in high regard.”

Bard’s eyes widened at the implications of Beorn’s words and reminded himself not to provoke the giant’s ire. 

“The dwarves?” Thranduil spoke quietly and questioningly, “I thought that your kind did not appreciate the dwarves.”

Beorn huffed, “Aye. But they weren’t the ones I was talkin’ of.”

Thranduil’s gaze went thoughtful and a small frown appeared on his lips as he gazed back at the giant man standing with arms crossed and hair in disarray.

“Indeed.” Was all the elf king replied.

Bard smirked. 

‘Hobbits.’ 

And then the bear man turned towards Bard, the man catching the small smile that played on the giant’s lips.

“Come then, master bowman, we must discuss what knowledge *I* have for you on your enemy’s whereabouts as well as informing your allies in the mountain of the great dragon’s demise.” 

The bear man gave a small kick into the unconscious prisoner’s side as he stepped over the sprawled man and closer to Bard.

The thrush that still nestled on the man’s shoulder—much to the man’s surprise—hopped forward and fluttered its wings, sailing upwards and nestling onto the bear man’s shoulder. 

Bard stared between the two for a moment before collecting himself and giving a firm nod.

“Yes. We have much to discuss, I expect.”

*****

The fact that Thorin had to go in search of his hobbit brought a frown to his face.

The silent little creature had slipped away while he was conversing with Dwalin on an attack strategy for when the dragon returned. 

And a constant thrumming of worry coursed through him when he could not find her face amongst the company conversing quietly in the hall. 

Hours she’d been gone.

He half wondered if she had slipped on that ring of hers and traipsed down to the treasure room to await Smaug’s return.

And THAT thought filled him with a deep anger. 

He hoped she wouldn’t be so naïve to attempt such a stunt. 

But then again, she was an unpredictable, opinionated little creature…

He honestly couldn’t say WHERE she might be.

And so he started, slowly, methodically searching each little room in the long hallway the company was dispersed through, praying to Mahal that his foolish little Givashel wasn’t too far off. 

Stepping over limbs and ignoring the curious glances he received from some of the company members, he peered quietly into each doorway, most left ajar since the dwarves’ expulsion from the mountain all those years ago, casting a eerie, haunted lifelessness upon the hallway. 

Casting his torch slowly forward, he peered into each quiet, dusty room, searching for a glimpse of golden curls and rich hazel eyes. 

Not a hide nor hair of the little, lovely lass, was found.

Until he reached the end of the hall, further from the company.

Here he caught snatches of Balin’s voice rising above the oppressive silence.

Thorin stopped outside the doorway, keeping his torch low as he listened. 

“It’s true you don’t see many dwarf women.” He remarked jovially, “Of course this could be attributed to the fact that dwarf women are so alike in voice and appearance that they are often mistaken for dwarf men.”

He heard Lyla’s light, bubbling laughter as she took in Balin’s words. “That doesn’t quite make sense, Master Balin,” She remarked quietly, the hint of laughter still laced through her words, “How can you not tell apart men and women?”

Balin, too, chuckled, “Aye lassie, it wouldn’t make much sense to a fair-faced earth child like yerself. All dwarves have beards, and ye’d know nothin’ of that!”

Lyla’s giggle got a bit louder and Thorin couldn’t keep the smile off his face at the sound. 

It was a refreshing sound.

“Aye it’s true lass, so confused have all the outside folk been about our people that they often argue that there ARE no dwarf women and that we dwarves just spring from rocks in the ground.”

It was here that Thorin peeked around the corner to gaze into the room. 

He peered thoughtfully at the two small forms sitting on the floor. Balin’s legs were stretched outward, his hands folded into the warm folds of his red coat as he was turned facing the hobbit. 

Lyla, he noted with a frown, had her legs pulled to her chest, her fingers interlaced pulling her body into a small, curled position, head resting delicately on her knees—something he knew she was nervous or upset. 

And though her eyes sparkled with curiosity as Balin continued to talk, he observed that something tempered that curiosity, darkening her gaze, making her jovial demeanor seem a tad forced.

It brought him unease to see her so. He wondered what caused her such turmoil.

His hobbit must have sensed someone watching for her head darted upwards and she gazed, wide-eyed at Thorin, her lips formed into a silent exclamation.

He noted the small flush on her otherwise pale face the way her eyes were guarded. She stared at him thoughtfully, carefully regarding every aspect of his face.

And then she smiled softly at him. 

“Hello,” she remarked quietly as Balin turned towards the doorway, a smile of his own lighting his feature.

“I was wonderin’ when ye’d find yer lass missin’” Balin winked at Thorin and started to rise slowly, “I’ve just been explainin’ to the curious little lass what the symbols on these tapestries mean.”

Thorin furrowed his brows and gave a quick sweep of the room, noting the intricate tapestries decorating the walls. Row after row adorned each corner and crevice of the room.  
Ah. 

They were in one of the storage rooms. All the ceremonial tapestries were hung here.

It brought a smile to Thorin’s face to see such adornments had survived the dragon’s scourge (even if they were a little worn and faded). 

But then Thorin’s brows furrowed and he frowned turning back towards Balin—who was now standing and smiling brightly at Thorin—and the hobbit still curled up on the ground.  
“I caught the tail end of your conversation,” He murmured confusedly, “And nothing suggested you to be talking of tapestries.”

At that Balin laughed loudly, his beard swaying slightly with his movements, “Aye, that’s true. Mistress Baggins asked a question about the differences between ceremonial tapestries and THAT led to a question about dwarven culture and men and women…” He trailed of and then grinned at Lyla who returned the smile softly.

Thorin chuckled at the digression in their conversation and gave a small nod of his head at Balin, “Well that is certainly an informative conversation and one that will far outrank the conversation that I’m proposing at the moment,” His eyes softened as he gazed down at the small, round face, the long lashes and the richly vibrant eyes, “However, it is one that I insist we have, Mistress Baggins, before we discuss our individual roles in this planned siege on the dragon.”

He watched Lyla stiffen and straighten up, her shoulders pulling back as she released her grip on her knees, letting her hands fall to her side and her legs stretch out and relax. 

She nodded her head once, meeting Thorin’s eyes, challenging his gaze with one of her own, “Alright then,” she remarked softly as her gazed sparkled and shifted from hesitancy to determination. 

Thorin was taken aback by that.

He turned, when he felt Balin’s hand on his arm as he walked by.

“Alright then, I’ll leave ye to it, though…” He stopped speak abruptly and tightened his grip on Thorin’s arm, making the dwarf king furrow his brow in confusion, “Though perhaps ye might want to inquire after her welfare, Master Oakenshield.” Balin whispered the last part, his voice so low that Thorin barely caught the words.

Balin fixed him with a firm stare, his eyes narrowed slightly, his long white eyebrows knit together. 

He cast a worried glance back towards the hobbit, who stared between Thorin and Balin with a confused expression marring her features.

And worry swirling in her eyes. 

Mahal what was wrong with her?

He turned back to Balin and gave a nod of his head, signaling that he understood and then shifted towards Lyla as Balin made to exit the room, giving the hobbit and the king a quiet moment together.

“Tell me what troubles you,” he murmured lowly, coming to crouch near his hobbit.

Lyla look apologetic and made to open her mouth in reply.

“It’s nothing I’m al-“

“Hush with that comment,” Thorin snapped suddenly his eyes blazing, “I’ll hear no more lies about it. Something troubles you,” Thorin leaned closer and placed a soft kiss on Lyla’s forehead and then her nose and then her lips, making the hobbit’s heart flutter at the unexpected contact, “Please trust me and tell me of your worries. You can trust me,”

*****

Lyla’s face fell.

Leave it to Balin to hint at her worries.

And when she’d specifically asked him NOT to trouble Thorin with it!

Bah…

She sighed and regarded Thorin’s inquiring blue eyes, her resolve dwindling.

Damn his eyes.

She’d have to tell him something…her worry. Perhaps…?

“I’m sorry, I just…”

But a commotion erupted down the hall making Lyla and Thorin both jump, the hobbit’s small hand searching for his larger, warmer one.

“Thorin!” Fili’s voice echoed lowly down the hall, “Thorin! You must come!”

The dwarf king stood abruptly, pulling Lyla up along with him and tugging the stumbling hobbit out the door.

“What has happened?” Thorin remarked turning into the hall and regarding Fili, Kili and the the rest of the company as they crammed together, their faces alight with wonder and trepidation. 

“You must come!” Kili cried, “We heard noises. Voices!” 

“Voices? What do you mean voices?”

“Just that,” Dwalin remarked stepping forward, “Voices. Not the dragon, but others. Someone else is down there.”

Thorin released Lyla’s hand and stepped forward, his strides purposeful.

“Show me.” 

Lyla trailed after the gaggle of dwarves, stumbling slightly as they nearly sprinted down the hall, their weapons drawn. 

Down the stairs they hastened, and Lyla’s heart pounded as they got closer and closer to the dragon’s bed of gold.

Unease knotted her stomach as they descended the last few flights of stairs.

She half expected the dragon, lying in wait for them, deception urging the dwarves downward.

But what she saw, stopped her short, her breath coming out in a soft gasp.

Flying high upwards, dozens of ravens swirled inside the mountain, their noises echoing within the confines of the room.

And the voices!

“Thorin Oakenshield!” The cacophony of birds remarked as they winged through the room, “We seek the king under the mountain!”

“Ravens!” Gloin cried, unable to mask his excitement, “The ravens of yore have returned!”

Thorin pushed his way through the throng of dwarves, coming to stand on the ledge overlooking the room.

“What news!” the dwarf king cried outward into the hall, where the birds soared, “What news do you bring?”

The cries from the birds grew louder, as the ravens hastened their movements.

And then one large, dark bird, with white around its beady black eyes swooped down from the mass of creatures and came to perch at the base of the stairwell.

“Hail Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror,” The bird called upwards to Thorin, much to Lyla’s surprise. “I am Roac son of Carc, your grandfather knew my father before the dragon took the mountain.”

Thorin nodded his head dismissively and waved his hand, “Yes, yes. Now what have you to tell me? Be quick about it if you please.”

“Yes of course your majesty,” The bird bowed its head again and then hopped up a few steps, closer to Thorin’s feet, “I come bearing good tidings. The mountain is once again yours, oh king of Erebor. Smaug the dragon his dead.”

Lyla’s eyes widened for a second time in a few short moments since the raven had first spoken.

Aule, this changed things!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what think ye of this chapter? We're set up for a big fall...hope you're ready for it. 
> 
> Comments and thoughts are always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> And take a peek at these lovely artistically inclined writers:
> 
> chappysmom: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> And Luckyhai5 and her fem!bilbo work 'Good Morning':
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	59. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making promises.
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> http://youtu.be/cfuvPy0NSzQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My humblest apologies for not getting this chapter out sooner. My life has been so up in the air this last week and I've just been anxious to get this out to you. I promise I haven't been holding chapters ransom. Really and truly. We've just had crazy weather and I've been dealing with some annoyances around the house (i.e. air conditioner stopped working) and then in between a migraine that's left me annoyed and leaking water in my living room...ugh it's just been a mess! But here's a chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

It took Thorin a few moments to understand what Roac was saying to him; a few moments for it to fully sink in what had happened. 

The dragon was dead.

Smaug was dead. 

By Durin’s beard, Smaug the Terrible was dead!

“H-how?” He choked, a strange emotion bubbling inside his chest.

Hope?

Surely this could not be true? Surely it was a jest…

Oh Mahal, he hoped not! 

“We bear this news from Master Beorn and the grey wizard who claim that Bard of Dale and Laketown was the one to fell the beast. His black arrow struck the weakness on the dragon’s chest.”

Thorin’s gaze darted to Lyla and he watched as the hobbit’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened slightly.

“Beorn? He was there? And they...Oh Aule it worked…?” she murmured dazedly, disbelievingly, her gaze unfocused, lips parted and cheeks flushed.

It was a fetching sight, Thorin had to admit. 

Dwalin, who stood next to her, was grinning and clapping his hand lightly on her shoulder.

“Aye lass,” He remarked jovially, “Ye did well.” 

‘Yes.’ Thorin agreed silently, frowning at the memory of Lyla stumbling from the tunnel, golden hair curling wildly about her head, her coat blazing brightly. ‘Foolishly well.’

But he couldn’t keep his thoughts focused on his ire.

Or the fact that HE had prepared to do something just as brash and foolish as anything the hobbit had thought up on this journey.

No indeed, he wouldn’t focus on such things.

Though, he was certainly going to finish his conversation with her about her foolhardiness.

For now, though? 

Thorin’s smile widened and a soft sigh escaped his lips as he turned to gaze around at the mountain before him, the warm golden glow of coins sending a jolt of eagerness down his spine.

For now, he could and would revel in the joy of just being home.

His true home. 

*****

Thorin shot Lyla a smile, his face alight and jovial, blue eyes sparkling brightly.

She’d never seen him so…relieved and unburdened.

So happy.

“Come!” he called out, his rich voice echoing in the massive cavern as he extended an arm outward in gesture to the sea of gold. A small chuckle escaped his lips, “Let us enjoy this moment! We are home!”

A collective cheer rose among the company members.

“Aye it’s about time!” Dwalin called out jokingly his lips turned upwards into a smirk, as he winked down at the hobbit.

And then he gave Lyla a gentle nudge to move down the steps as the rest of the company started downwards as well, past the large raven Roac who still sat perched in the stairwell, and towards the mounds of treasures heaped into glittering mountains wherever Lyla’s gaze landed. 

She walked slower than the rest of the company, letting the eager dwarves move past her.

Her thoughts pushed her to hesitate on the steps. 

While she was pleased—more than pleased—that Smaug was dead, pleased that the dwarves were home, and pleased that she never had to think about a fire-breathing beast, or trolls, or wargs, or…Azog, trepidation still flowed in her veins.

When she stepped onto the landing where Thorin had been a few moments ago, the large black raven Roac gave an ear-piercing cry and hopped forward towards Lyla. The hobbit stumbled backwards out of surprise, wondering if the bird’s sharp beak would snap at her feet. 

“You are not a dwarf,” Roac declared unperturbed by Lyla’s stumble away from him, “Are you a hobbit?”

Lyla’s brows shot up in surprise and she gazed around to see if any of the other company members were nearby. 

They weren’t. They were already wading through the piles of gold, picking up various pieces, or gazing up in wonder at the architecture of this kingdom beneath the mountain.   
She turned back towards Roac who stood, shifting his wings slightly and staring back at Lyla expectantly, his large black eyes unblinking and piercingly unnerving. 

‘Oh for Eru’s sake Lyla! It’s just a bird. You can handle a bird!’

Lyla swallowed and furrowed her brow gazing down at Roac, trying to decipher his motivations for asking such a question. “Er, uh yes I am…a hobbit. How did you-how did you   
know…that?”

“I have many friends, master hobbit,” Roac remarked drily, “I am close allies with the dwarves, it is true, but for many years my kin have been in contact with the grey wizard and his bear-friend.” 

Lyla’s eyes widened, “You know Gandalf and Beorn personally? I mean, beyond just delivering that one message?” She remarked and when the raven nodded slowly, questions started to bubble eagerly from her lips. “How…are they well? Where are they? What can you tell me of them?”

The bird seemed completely unruffled by the hobbit’s rapid questions. He merely adjusted his wings again, and shifted his feet as he gazed up at Lyla, “I can tell you that they are well, master hobbit, and that they send their regards and reassurance that all is well with the men. The children are safe.”

Lyla let out a shuddering breath as her heart leapt within her chest.

They were free! They escaped!

Oh Aule, they escaped!

“And what of the town?” she remarked eagerly, “What of Master Bard and the others? Were there many casualties?”

“The town has been destroyed,” Roac remarked lowly, his gravelly voice echoing in Lyla’s ears.

Her heart plummeted.

“And the people?” She hesitated, “You said the children were safe, what of the rest?”

“There were some casualties,” the bird remarked clicking his beak together, “At least thirty were buried this morning.”

Lyla stumbled backwards, her hands feeling for the steps as she sank down slowly, her breath leaving her chest. 

At least thirty?

AT LEAST?

She could feel the dredging anguish at the knowledge that she was responsible for at least thirty deaths of innocent people. She’d doomed them to the wrath of a dragon.

She’d provoked the dragon and he’d destroyed their town. He took away their homes, their livelihood, and even some of their lives. 

Oh what had she done?

The crushing panic hit her full force and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her eyes blurred with tears and she tried to steady her thrumming heart. 

It was a useless endeavor.

Faces swam in her vision, faces of innocent people. 

And she’d doomed them.

She’d made them suffer more. 

Lyla let out a strangled gasp and jumped as someone laid a hand on her shoulder. 

She gazed and blinked to clear her vision, cursing the warm salty tears that tracked down her cheeks as Thorin’s worried face became more crisply focused in her vision.

“Whatever is the matter?” he remarked lowly, crouching on the step, his dark hair washed over his shoulders as he leaned closer and grasped her hand, “What has happened?”

Lyla made to open her mouth, but the only noise she could exude was a small mewl of despair, her emotions getting the better of her.

‘Pull yourself together!’ She tried to harden her resolve and force the tears back, but it was proving fruitless. 

Aule, what was wrong with her? She’d not cried like this since she was a faunt.

“What did you say to her, master bird?” Thorin demanded to Roac, who still stood, completely unaffected by the come-apart that Lyla experienced. 

“I merely relayed a message, your majesty, detailing the destruction of Laketown and the death of a few of the men there, as per the request of the grey wizard.”

“Bah that wizard!” Thorin grumbled shifting closer to Lyla, “What must he be thinking by stating such news!”

“H-he probably means to be practical,” Lyla whispered thoughtfully, her voice rough with emotion. 

She understood the practicality of informing her of these bits of information. And, in some strange way (that only a wizard would understand the logic of) she knew that Gandalf meant to convey these things in order to prepare her, to help her to come to terms with the whole affair. It was no secret that she’d never experienced a battle or understood warfare (other than through reading her father’s old tomes anyway). Gandalf knew this and, for some reason, he must have wanted to help her understand the truth, to recognize the pain that comes with war (something her books could never accurately have depicted) so that she might not be so shocked. 

“The master wizard,” Roac continued, “Also wished to convey that the enemy will be moving. They plan to retreat to King Thranduil’s halls and prepare an attack. They will contact you soon on the matter to discuss reparations and assistance.” 

Thorin gazed thoughtfully at Lyla and then to the bird. He nodded his head in understanding, though he frowned “Well, Gandalf the Grey certainly knows how temper a joyous moment! Bah!” he grumble again and then sighed addressing Roac , “That sounds well. We’ll need to reinforce the fortifications and prepare.” He gave Lyla’s hand a gentle squeeze, “You and your kinsmen must travel to the Iron Hills and inform my cousin Dain of this development. Tell him that the mountain has been reclaimed but that the enemy draws near and we call for aid.”

The great raven bowed his head and hopped back, “As you wish, your majesty,” He clacked, stretching forth his wings and flying away with nary another sound escaping his large, sharp beak. 

Lyla watched the bird wing away, her eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears. Even with Thorin’s large hand encasing her own, she couldn’t shake the guilt.

“Lyla.”

She cast her eyes towards Thorin, as the dwarf crouched before her on the steps, his brows were furrowed, his eyes darkened from the glittering blue that they had been a moment ago.

“Come,” He whispered to her, rising to his feet and pulling the hobbit to hers as well. “We need to talk.”

Lyla blinked a few times, but didn’t resist Thorin’s tugging movement as he led her back up the stairs and towards the hallway with a quick, precise gait, his grip firmly encasing her hand in his own. 

Since the dwarf, nor the hobbit, held a torch, Thorin stopped in the archway leading into the darkened dusty tunnel, his steps ceased and he turned towards Lyla, his face half hidden by shadows as he gazed down at Lyla, a frown marring his features. 

Lyla gazed back, her stomach flopping in her belly, a nervous flutter travelling up her spine. 

She wanted to say something, but her mouth had suddenly gone dry, her thoughts flying out her head as she stared into the impossibly blue eyes and noted the way Thorin’s hair slowly blended into the darkness.

“Lyla,” Thorin whispered, his voice low, gruff, “You can’t believe that you are responsible for the dragon’s wrath upon Laketown.” 

It was Lyla’s turn to frown. “That makes no sense,” She murmured, “I was…the one to set the dragon into a rage. I-I goaded him. If I hadn’t—“

“Were you not the one who said you did the right thing?” Thorin’s own frown deepened, “Did you not argue with me a short while ago about the honor in your actions? What’s changed since then?”

“I…” Lyla hesitated, “I just wanted….I mean I know that with war there’s likely to be casualties…but, I just…” She had to explain this. Make him see, somehow, “Back in the Shire, this never would have happened.”

“Of that we are in agreement, my dear,” Thorin nodded his head thoughtfully, “But we are most certainly not in your beloved Shire. We are far away from there. This is the hard, cold world. A dragon attacked this mountain and I don’t believe that all your good cheer and food could have assuaged the pernicious, loathing beast.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Lyla remarked, slightly offended by his flippant remark about her home. “The Shire is a peaceful place, but we do have our struggles.”

“But never a dragon. You’ve never had a dragon, so why do you compare two very different spheres? The Shire is good and peaceful and innocent. This mountain,” Thorin gestured, “Everything that has happened along the way to get here, those were not happy things. They were not good. It was evil that you’ve experienced and no amount of wishing will change that. You could not save the fate of Laketown. You could have no control over it, don’t you see that?”

“But all those people who died?” Lyla question, her heart seizing at the thought, “All those innocent people could have been spared if I had not gone into the mountain in the first place.”

“At what cost then? You’d leave those children to die?” Thorin remarked, narrowing his eyes slightly, “I could not believe that of you. You were bound by something far greater than yourself. And your honor would have always led you to that doorway, to the dragon. Even before Laketown. You signed a contract,” And Thorin smiled thoughtfully, his gaze going unfocused, “And you told me once that you were a Baggins and they never go back on their word.”

“And a Took apparently,” Lyla remarked lowly, “Foolish, wasn’t that what you called me?”

“Mahal, I really didn’t want to deal with this now. Don’t you understand? You can’t control everything dear one,” Thorin murmured, pulling her into a hug, “It wasn’t your fault. You did not release the dragon on the town. And you are no more to blame for Smaug's actions against Laketown than my grandfather was responsible for the dragon's destruction upon Erebor." 

“No.” Lyla pushed away from Thorin, “No. I had a hand in it! I did. Even YOU were angry with me. You said that I WAS foolish! And-“

“I said those things,” Thorin shouted, his anger rising, “Because I care about you! And Kili! You BOTH were foolish, but YOU, you could have been silent, but you provoked the creature! You set its fury upon yourself. WHY?!”

“Because I care about YOU! Don’t you get that? You deserve to have this,” Lyla gestured around, “All of this! And those children? They were innocent. They-they never deserved that beast of a man to rule over them! And what am I in comparison to all of that? If I could have just set things right somehow, done something… I just, I did what I had to do! I-“ Lyla faltered for a moment, “I did the only thing I could! I-“

Thorin’s lips touched hers softly, as his hand wove into her hair, gently caressing the nape her neck as his lips tenderly covered her own. 

And for another moment, all thoughts flew from her head as she reveled in the still unfamiliar (yet pleasant) sensation of being held so close and kissing someone that made her heart flutter in a most alarming manner. 

Thorin pulled away slowly and grinned down at Lyla his nose rubbing against hers as he touched their foreheads together. 

“That’s the second time you’ve done that,” the hobbit whispered faintly, her voice coming out ragged and breathless. 

Her heart fluttered again, her stomach flipping, as Thorin pulled back, grin still firmly in place.

“True,” He remarked as his hands moved down her shoulders and reached for her hands once more. “But it seems to be rather effective.” 

The familiar caress of soft, soothing circles being worked into her palms, brought a smile to her face.

“Don’t you see?” He questioned, “There was really nothing to be done. You were right, as pained as I am to admit it. Your nature wouldn’t allow you to put a selfish desire into your heart. You wouldn’t reject your contract, you wouldn’t let those children suffer anymore than they had to, and you certainly didn’t want Smaug to attack Laketown. Not intentionally. You were always determined to help others at your own expense.” The dwarf flinched as the words tumbled from his mouth, “But,” Thorin sighed and gazed down on her, “But you could not have all that you wanted, Givashel. Evil has a way of breaking apart the peaceful stillness, of snatching something away.”

Lyla sighed, shaking her head, “And if I had never come on this journey…if you had never tried to reclaim your homeland?”

“Then The Master still would have control over those children and the mountain still would have been guarded by a dragon, a dragon who could have attacked the townspeople on a whim. Lyla,” Thorin tilted her chin up so that their gazes were connected, “All lives end. All hearts are broken in one way or another. Bad things do happen, but you cannot let the weight hang on your shoulders. You cannot continue to hold onto unfounded guilt. You were given an impossible task. And as you said, you did the best you could. Do I think it was foolish? Certainly. But that’s because I care for you, not because I didn’t believe that what you were doing wasn’t right.” 

He kissed her nose lightly and frowned, brushing his fingers across her cheek.

“For my part, I am sorry you were faced with such a difficult decision. I never thought that this would be such a challenge or that so many would wish ill against us. You should not have had to bear that burden. But I promise you, dearest one, that those townspeople will be repaid.”

“You cannot give life back to the dead,” Lyla remarked morosely, “That is an impossibility.” 

“That is true, my flower,” At that name Lyla’s ears perked up and she gaze into Thorin’s eyes. She noted the sadness, the burden that shone within the sapphire pools, “But I will not reject those who have done so much for us and have suffered at the hands of the enemy. The Master of Laketown will not stay in power and I will assist in the rebuilding of Laketown and Dale if they so desire. We are indebted to them and I will not turn away friends.”

Thorin brushed a few locks of hair from Lyla’s forehead,tucking the unruly strands behind her ear, “Nor,” He murmured quietly, “will I watch you wilt from worry for others. I want you to smile and be happy for we have accomplished much. In the end, all things will work out. All with be well and I will do my part. No one’s needs will be forgotten,” Thorin touched their foreheads together again, “Especially not yours.”

Lyla tried to keep the smile on her face even as the wicked voice in the back of her mind whispered:

‘Liar.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do we think? Any comments? I'd love to hear from you! 
> 
> And here's a spotlight on some talented authors. Take a peek at their work: 
> 
> Luckyhai5's Au fem!bilbo work 'Good Morning'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347
> 
> chappysmom's entire collection of Sherlock works:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> And Kookookarli's wonderful fem!Bilbo work 'Not the Typical Hobbit Lass'  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/884729/chapters/1704661


	60. Descending Towards Madness and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foul things are at work
> 
> Music for this chapter:  
> http://youtu.be/sQ9NOV3KNpY  
> http://youtu.be/zkXbzffVl44  
> http://youtu.be/WPDejmyqB_E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And because I feel particularly terrible about not posting when I wanted, here's another chapter. It's longer. I hope you enjoy it, you lovely readers. Thank you all for being so wonderfully amazing. 
> 
> And p.s. if you guys haven't check out Snittycakez's art, you really should! She even did some art for THIS story...can so say that I'm honored by that? Seriously. It was wonderful!
> 
> http://snittycakez.deviantart.com/

It was far worse than Gandalf had supposed. 

It had been a week.

The displaced citizens of Laketown were safe and recovering. Their malnourished forms were beginning to regain their normal strength. Sullen, sunken faces were filling out, hollowed eyes were starting to shine brighter and the soft laughter of children could be heard echoing down the halls, rising through the tree branches and bouncing off the stone. 

Wounds had been bound and attended to by healers. 

The elves were very solicitous in caring for their temporary guests. 

But the peaceful reprieve could not last. 

And war was drawing closer and far quicker than Gandalf believe possible. 

He knew that the enemy was moving towards Erebor, but he never suspected that the enemy would be so massive in number. Orcs from Gundabad and goblins from the Misty Mountain strongholds were descending upon the people, upon Thranduil’s home, and upon Erebor.

Especially Erebor. 

For what purpose, though? Smaug was dead. What could they hope to achieve with invading the dwarf kingdom?

Beorn seemed to believe that it was partially a revenge plot. 

“The orcs descended upon that company of dwarves before they even entered the woodland. And they would have followed them into the trees had I not provided…distraction for those filthy black blooded beasts. And when I tracked those who got away, they led me to their leader’s remains.” Beorn then fixed Gandalf with a hard glare, “The company had been there as well. Those creatures must have understood as much as well.”

“It does seem a plausible explanation,” Thranduil remarked quietly, as he paced through the room slowly, circling the dias, running his hand over the smooth wood of the throne, “Thorin Oakenshield certainly has a penchant for attracting far more enemies than allies. And with your…involvement with the goblin king, Mithrandir, and freeing Master Oakenshield and the others from the goblin stronghold, 

the entire race will fall upon that mountain. Orc and Goblin aligned for a common purpose.”

Thranduil stopped his pacing, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at Gandalf carefully, thoughtfully.

“Though, perhaps,” He murmured, “That does not explain everything. My son tells me that our scouts have recovered the remains of one of our own guard, slain deep in the forest, far from the path.” Thranduil’s gaze shifted to Legolas who stood near one of the larger pillars encircling the raised throne.

The blonde elf prince nodded slowly, “It would appear that the body was one of the guards who was in charge of tending to the dwarves during their…time…here. His name was Galion. And from reports by the dwarves themselves, Master Galion was not overly fond of Master Oakenshield and his company.” Legolas frowned, “He was…prone to anger against them and attacked the young hobbit when she attempted to free them.” 

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed at the thought.

“And here I supposed the elves to be the most level headed race,” He muttered darkly, turning towards Thranduil, “It would appear that the graciousness of your halls have somewhat lessened of late, Thranduil, king. Spies within your own guard? That does not bode well.”

“Indeed,” Thranduil remarked stoic but with narrowed eyes, a frown marring his perfect features, “It’s a curious thing, this evil. Through the smallest cracks it seeps and distorts goodness.”

The thoughtful gaze returned to Gandalf’s face and the wizard regarded the elf king with an intrigued wariness, gripping his staff tightly in his hands.

“Tell me, Mithrandir,” Thranduil commented, stepping towards the wizard, “Did you tell the dwarf king of what you found in Dol Guldur?”

Gandalf gaze back at Thranduil’s chilled, calculating gaze with a narrowed eye.

“I did not have the availability, no,” He responded quietly, “I would have informed him had I been give the chance.”

At that, Thranduil gave a low, derisive snort. “You would have explained that you had found the dwarf’s father, maddened from imprisonment within the confines of that ruined fortress by some sorcerer? You would deliver such news as this?”

“I would not keep such news from him,” Gandalf remarked, rising to his feet agitatedly, “He has a right to know what became of his father. And who was keeping him. That was no mere sorcerer. That was a necromancer, one who can summon the dead.”

“That is absurd,” Thranduil quirked an eyebrow at Gandalf, his frown deepening, “No such power exists in this land.”

“Let him speak.”

Gandalf turned a surprised eye towards the voice that whispered through the air.

He regarded Bard the Bowman with a mixture of surprise, awe and incredulity. 

“And what would a mere bowman have to say on this matter?” Thranduil remarked, “You may have slain a dragon, but you know nothing of the dark powers.” 

Bard raised his chin higher, locking his gaze with the tall elf king, unflinching. “I may not fully understand the powers that might be at work, but I will not simply dismiss them. Too much has happened for us to simply ignore such warnings as these. We must believe that this necromancer exists.” 

“It cannot be,” Thranduil’s voice had gone soft in volume, but hard and contemptuous in tone, “This necromancer can be nothing more than a mortal man, a conjurer dabbling in black magic.”

“That does not explain everything though,” Bard retorted, frowning at the elf, “That does not explain The Master’s ability to control the people of Rhun to do his bidding around town. It doesn’t explain the power that controlled Master Oakenshield’s father as Gandalf claim, and it certainly doesn’t explain the undeniable taint and decay of your home. Something far more powerful is at work. We cannot simply dismiss it.”

“That man,” Thranduil spat, “Is worth nothing to me. He refuses to talk of his knowledge, what’s to say his machinations are in alliance with this supposed greater power?”  
“That man does not possess the skill to control such an army that invaded Esgaroth,” Bard remarked, “He’s a politician, true, but even he could not have held sway over such a ruthless people as those from Rhun. Something else is driving them, some great power that used The Master as a pawn.”

“And this power is familiar to you,” Gandalf cut in quietly, “You’ve felt it before. You know what must be lurking in the shadows. But you are afraid to admit it.”

“I am afraid of nothing,” Thrandruil contested, eyes narrowed, a slight scowl on his face.

But then Thranduil sighed and an aged weariness clouding his eyes as he focused on Gandalf. And the wizard knew why the elf king hesitated to admit the presence of this power.  
His father. 

Thranduil’s own father was slain many years ago from the same dark powers. The elf knew the feeling of this power, he was familiar with it, and Gandalf knew that it must have terrified the stoic king of Mirkwood.

Though the creature would never admit it.

“For more than three thousand years, we’ve lived in peace,” the elf muttered, “A hard won, watchful peace. If it is truly the power you suspect, Mithrandir, why does it have an eye fixed on Erebor?”

Gandalf too sighed, feeling his age deep in his bones, a tired ache that settled over him, drawing him back down to his seat. 

“That I do not know, Thranduil son of Oropher. Why focus on your home as well? What this necromancer seeks, I cannot say, but we cannot sit here debating philosophizing. We must prepare to take action. We must prepare for battle.”

*****  
Liar 

Liar

Liar 

Liar

The word bounced in Lyla’s head as the days slipped by, blurring from one to the next. And the more time they spent in this accursed mountain, the more unease the hobbit felt coursing through her.

Something was wrong. 

Terribly wrong. 

Initially she supposed that her fears were unfounded and that she was overreacting, her nervous tendencies getting the better of her. 

‘Enjoy this moment’ Thorin had whispered in her ear, ‘Bask in YOUR victory. Without you we would have never succeeded.’

And so she’d plastered a smile on her face and allowed the dwarf king to show her some of the other halls above the treasure room, pointing out tapestries, or carvings and  
explaining some of the customs that Balin hadn’t had a chance to mention.

“I want you to feel like you know these halls and know my people’s culture. I want you to feel like this is a home for you, should-“ Thorin had swallowed at that thought and briefly touched Lyla’s little necklace where Dis’ ring and Bifur’s carving rested around her neck, “Should you wish it.”

She could feel the hesitance in his remark, feel the need for reassurance.

But Thorin did not give her a chance to provide it. Instead, he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, guiding the confused and stunned hobbit back towards the glitter jewels and the ragged company members, many of whom had settled down to rest. When the dwarf king cleared his throat and stepped away from Lyla, however, each of them straightened and regarded the king respectfully.

“Today has been a good day, and you shall receive your treasure of that I can assure you,” Thorin began lowly, his voice washing over Lyla, tickling her sputtering heart with a funny feeling, “But there is one treasure I must insist remain in my family possession. The arkenstone was my grandfather’s, his symbol of rule and I very much desire to have that jewel returned to my family line, so that my heirs,” he gestured towards Fili and Kili, “might have a birthright, and so that any who come to these halls might see a symbol of MY rule and know of the power of our people.”

A low murmur of agreement swept through the company and Lyla too nodded her head.

‘Logically he’d want to ensure that remained in his possession,’ She surmised.

And she vowed to help search for that particular stone. What did she care for treasure anyway? She really had no use for it and while the gemstones and trinkets certainly were pretty to behold, they didn’t hold much sway over her attention. 

She’d rather be sitting beneath a tree, surrounded by wildflowers, feeling the warm rays of sun on her face as the a soft gentle breeze blew by. 

Yes, that sounded infinitely more lovely. 

Treasure meant nothing to her. 

But searching for the arkentsone? 

Doing something for Thorni?

THAT was something she could occupy her time with.

*****

Lyla had a hard time dropping off to sleep that night, the rustling of coins and the low whispers of some of the company left her alert and jittery. Gold clanked and clattered, fabric rustled, whispers swirled overhead, slipping away one by one until a soft, eerie stillness began to permeate the cavern.

Why the company suggested they sleep in the treasure room was beyond her, but their unanimous voices won out over her solitary protest.

So here she huddled beneath her blanket and Thorin’s coat, trying to find a comfortable position to hunker down for the night. 

It took several tries to finally find the right position, the position that didn’t jab some foreign piece of jewelry into her spine. Twisted on her side, curled into a ball, though, she managed to finally get comfortable and warm, her eyes beginning to feel heavy.

“You should rest Thorin,” Balin’s gentle remark filtered into the hobbits sensitive ears and she strained to listen to the conversation, with her back turned from the dwarf king.  
The rest of the company, by that time, had all nodded off, exhaustion tempering their curiosity and eagerness to explore the mountain. 

“I know Balin and I will,” Thorin sighed quietly, “I just fear that when I awake, this will all have been a dream. I do not wish to leave this happy state yet.”

“Aye laddie,” Balin remarked and Lyla was certain the dwarf was smiling, “That’s true enough. But make sure you get some sleep, Bifur has watch and we’ve had a long journey.  
And there’s still more to plan for when Gandalf arrives.” 

The two waxed into a long silence, the rustling of fabric against coin ceasing, breathing evening out.

‘Yes’ Lyla thought tiredly, her eyes beginning to droop as the hush pulled her towards dreams, the scent of Thorin’s coat filling her with a warmth and contentedness. 

‘Much more to prepare for.’

Of course nightmares forced her back to wakefulness some hours later and she bolted upright, stifling a cry as the coat fell from her shoulders.  
She’d dreamt of Smaug’s fire consuming her.

The first thing she noted, beyond the erratic pattering of her heart, though, was Thorin still sitting in the same position that she’d seen him when she’d gone to sleep.  
Oh dear.

She regarded the rigged, straight posture and the way Thorin’s hands gently caressed the coins and gems beneath his fingers, softly running his hands over the smooth and rigid surfaces of the treasure. 

With brows furrowed and worry stuttering in her heart, the hobbit slowly rose to her feet and padded towards Thorin quietly. 

“Thorin?” She questioned resting a hand on his shoulder softly.

The dwarf jerked so violently at the touch that the coins beneath his fingers sailed through the air and clattered around the room. 

A few even nobbled Lyla on the head.

But the sliver of pain she felt from being pelted by gold gave way to worry and surprise as Thorin turned towards her.

The dwarf’s eyes went from a narrowed glare, to a surprised gaze as he regarded her.

“What are you doing awake, dear one?” he asked a bit gruffly, but searching for her hand, to pull her gently down. “You should have gotten more rest.”

Lyla wanted to answer Thorin’s question, but she was distracted by the dwarf’s gaze. 

His eyes were far too bright, almost fevered in appearance.

His normal glittering blue orbs were brighter, glossy, and a tad unfocused.

Warning bells started to chime in her head and dread started to bubble. 

“Are,” She hesitated a moment, “Are you alright?”

The dwarf’s brow furrowed, “Of course,” He remarked slowly, “There is no reason for me to be otherwise. I have more than I ever dared to hope.” He leaned forward and kissed Lyla’s cheek softly, making the hobbit blush furiously. “I’m quite content.”

“You should try and get some rest, though,” She remarked lowly, her emotions getting the better of her, “I worry that you’ll be too far spent in the coming days with all of the impending work. Best get sleep now, yes?”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but then softened, “Yes I understand, my dear, but I find that I am not tired.” The dwarf smiled, “In fact, I find that I am rather energized and eager to return Erebor to its former glory.”

Lyla smiled softly. 

Yes, perhaps that’s what this was? 

Excitement?

“I understand that. And it will be wonderful, I am sure.” She gave Thorin’s hand a gentle squeeze, “Just don’t overextend your energies.”

Thorin rubbed his fingers across her palm slowly as he nudged her shoulder with his own, “I promise that I will be quite well. But you should return to sleep. I see the weariness on your face. You’ve not had proper rest in quite some time.” He nudged her again, “Go. I am quite well.”

But as Lyla rose, Thorin placing a soft kiss on her hand, and returned to her bedroll and curling once more beneath the heady scent of Thorin’s coat, she couldn’t quell the worry that was beginning to fester more fervently in her heart. 

And as the days past, she would learn why. 

With each hour within the mountain, Thorin seemed to grow more and more distracted. While he would discuss plans to fortify the broken entrance, and reinforce the damaged columns of the main room, Lyla noted that his gaze would drift down towards the gold, a thoughtful smile forming on his lips. 

And with the passing of each day, his agitation started to manifest, his temper flare and his patience and composure started to crack. 

It wasn’t until they’d been in Erebor an entire week, that Lyla suspected her fears were coming true.

The first real indication of a change in his behavior came when he snapped at Fili’s question concerning his health.

“You haven’t gotten any sleep, uncle,” he commented quietly, standing before Thorin, “Surely you must be tired. Why not take a few moments to rest yourself?”

“And leave all of these preparations in your incapable hands?!” Thorin snarled taking a step forward, “I’m quite capable of handling my own affairs and I certainly don’t need to be coddled concerning my health! Don’t ask me to rest again.”

But then Thorin’s expression shifted to one of surprise and regret. 

The dwarf stepped away from his nephew, and cleared his throat.

“I-I am sorry,” He murmured lowly, “I don’t…you are right, I must be tired. I-I will rest after I discuss fortifications with Dwalin.”

And while it placated Fili and eased the tension that had erupted between the two, Lyla’s was still wary, still suspicious.

And her heart whispered angrily against the growing hissing whisper in her head.

Liar

Liar 

Liar

Liar

The next day proved even worse. The few conversations that she HAD been able to whittle from Thorin the previous day disappeared almost entirely. 

All he mentioned to her, at least, was his desire to have help in searching for the arkenstone.

So that is what she did. Impossible as the task was. That’s all she really could do, aside from cast worried glances towards Thorin.

No one could really coax him away from the treasure room. His eyes constantly shifted towards the piles of gold heaped around him a smile firmly plastered on his face.  
He was distracted, barely acknowledging Dwalin’s concerns about the main entrance and the news of the enemy moving toward Erebor. 

The warrior dwarf wanted to focus attention on preparing for battle.

"If the enemy's movin' Thorin, we must do somethin'. Prepare ourselves somehow."

Thorin didn’t appear as concerned, though he DID acknowledge that something needed to be done. 

Though he grumbled and snapped about it frequently (and apologized for his hard words afterwards). 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” He murmured to Dwalin at one point, “All the work to be done…I just must be overwhelmed.”

But with each hour that passed, Lyla could see the deterioration of Thorin’s patience and accommodating behavior.

He was changing and she was fairly certain that she KNEW what the cause was.

And by the third day, any doubt she had concerning the cause of Thorin’s shift in behavior, disappeared. 

The dwarf king seemed to completely forego sleep. His gaze nearly permanent trapped in focus on the treasures around him. 

He was waspish towards the company, especially anyone who dared to strike up a conversation with him and distract him from rifling through the treasure.  
Kili made that mistake when he asked to go hunting for some food since their supplies were running low.

“What concern is that of mine?!” Thorin snapped, whipping his head towards his youngest nephew, “You are the bowman, are you not? Go and do what you will, but leave the idiocy to yourself if you please. I have far too much to do here.”

No one dared talk to Thorin for a few hours after that, though there were whispers that he was slipping into madness.

Lyla had to agree. 

Every preparation ceased including the discussions for the rebuilding of the main gate. 

Instead, Thorin couldn’t be tempted to tear his eyes away from the treasure. And when anyone broached that subject, they received a harsh reprimand.

When Dwalin returned to report more concerns with the front gate, he became the target of Thorin’s tongue lashing. 

“Do not begin to discuss how I bide my time! I am your king and you owe your allegiance to me!” He growled at Dwalin, shooting a glare around at the stunned company members.  
“Do not think that I am your friend, your companion, or your ally!” He hissed, “Above all those titles I am your king! YOUR KING! And as such you will show the proper respect for my status and adhere to my commands.”

And all the while, that fevered brightness in his eyes only intensified. 

Lyla hardly dared breathe as Thorin’s hardened gaze swept over where she sat, having paused from searching through the endless stream of gold for the arkenstone—a stone that supposedly surpassed the beauty of all other stones…though she had no idea what that really meant. 

Thorin paused briefly, his eyes softening for a moment.

A very brief moment. 

“When Dain and his troops arrive we will rebuild the main gate, but until then, it is important that we find the arkenstone. It is the symbol of my right to rule. And all who see it will know and pay proper homage to our kingdom.”

“Laddie,” Balin stepped forward quietly, frowning at Thorin’s rigid stance, “Surely you must see that we need to prepare. You said yourself only yesterday that according to Gandalf we must prepare for an enemy. Should we not, then, work to determine our strength in weapons and assess the solutions that Dwalin has created from his expeditions to the front.”

“Are you king?!” Thorin thundered squaring off against his friend.

Lyla’s heart hammered in her chest as Thorin towered over Balin, who had leaned back a little startled by the king’s sudden burst of anger.

“I never professed to be,” Balin murmured stoically, “You are, by right, king under the mountain.”

“Then see to it,” Thorin hissed, “that you never question my command again. We search for the arkenstone until Dain’s arrival and then we’ll discuss the fortifications.”

Balin remained silent, bowing his head lightly in deference to Thorin’s status. Lyla saw Dwalin’s grip tighten around one of his battle axes, though the warrior dwarf made no move towards his brother or his king.

Instead, he and the rest of the company chose to remain quiet.

“Search!” Thorin commanded, a satisfied smirk on his face, “Try and find the arkenstone.”

Thorin’s gaze swept over the company members once more.

His eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Move!” 

In a flurry of activity, the company members started to rifle through the gold. Lyla watched Bofur frown and mutter something too low to hear as he slowly shifted piles of gold about, digging a small hole into the sea of golden trinkets.

Many of the others shared similar frowning looks of incredulity as they tossed aside golden chalices, scepters and statues. 

Lyla eyed Thorin’s retreating form carefully, standing still as a statue as the dwarf retreated further down one of the larger mountains of gold, his bright eyes darting around the ground as he shuffled his feet through the loose coins, gazing around thoughtfully. 

Lyla’s hands balled into fists as she watched Thorin’s movements, her unease growing. She shot a look at Balin who was staring back at her a dark look in his eyes.  
Lyla’s stomach dropped to her toes.

And the sinister voice that had been her constant companion since Mirkwood whispered louder and louder in her ears.

Liar

Liar 

Liar 

Liar

So, the hobbit did the only thing she could, to ease her knotting stomach and to dim the whispers in her head.

She disregarded Thorin’s command and she wandered.

Both things that would probably get her into trouble with said king under the mountain, though she did not turn back.

She wandered as far away from the treasure room as possible without actually leaving the mountain.

She explored the upper halls (careful to stick to the main hallways for fear of becoming lost), brushing over the dust covered walls poking her head into different doors. With each overturned chair, each displaced dish and weapon, Lyla could see the moment, the last moment when the dwarves of Erebor were at peace.

The last moment of normalcy before the dragon descended, destruction and death it its wake.

It was haunting and heartbreaking.

And it did nothing to assuage the hissing whispers.

‘He lied to you’ the dull murmur echoed in her ears as she turned about the darkened tunnels, ‘He never intended to keep his promise. The dragons’ warning was true. This was a doomed endeavor. You will end up alone.’

Lyla shook her head to dispel the thoughts, but they haunted her steps and made her head pound.

She missed the sunshine.

She missed the wind.

She missed birdsong.

Or sweet Eru she wanted out of this mountain!

“I just need to get out for a moment. Just a—“

An idea sparked in her head and before she could weigh the risks, Lyla had retrieved the ring from her pocket and thrust it on her finger. 

Immediate regret made her knees buckle as a terrible weight pressed on her shoulders. She stumbled as the world went hazy. Lyla felt dizzy, disoriented and tired.

And while the whispers intensified growing to a dull roar in her ears, the hobbit forced herself to ignore their words they spat and focus, rather, on placing one foot in front of the other and heading back down towards the treasure room.

And to the hidden doorway. 

She easily bypassed the dwarves as they clamored noisily in search of the arkenstone. 

She passed Thorin with a shudder as he stood further from the rest, his hands drifting over a large golden vase. 

She slid easily down the hill of gold and scrambled down the abandoned tunnel, ripping the ring from her finger as she pushed against the door, praying that the massive stone block would move.

It took more exertion and sweat than she’d hoped, but Lyla managed to open the doorway enough to squeeze through.

With a satisfied, and exhausted smile, the hobbit plopped down in the dust and breathed in the fresh air. 

That is where Dwalin found her a great while later. She sat close to the edge with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped protectively around her legs as she breathed in the fresh mountain air and listened to the wind whistle through the crags and crevices.

“Lass?” Lyla could hear the hesitancy in Dwalin’s voice (something she never expected to hear to be honest) and it frightened her.

If this battle hardened warrior was worried, then something truly terrible was going on.

“Yes Dwalin?” She remarked lowly, not bothering to look at the dwarf who had come to sit by her. “What do you need?”

“I came to check on ye,” Dwalin’s gravelly voice was low, “Thorin’s in a right state because he can’t find things lately and it wouldn’t do if he discovered ye missin’ aye?”

A large warm hand rested on her shoulder and Lyla found a small smile creeping on her face at the contact. 

“And this extends to me? Why? Am I some possession?” She replied in a whisper, “I’ve just been…wandering about and exploring. I needed some fresh air.”

She turned towards the dwarf and noted the way Dwalin’s brown eyes remained guarded, pinched. 

Lyla frowned and then sighed, “I’m sorry, truly, it’s just been a trying day. I don’t quite know what to make of things.”

“Aye lass, neither do I,” Dwalin grumbled, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze, “I’ve not seen Thorin like this before. Not even during Moria. Somethin’s got a firm fix on his mind,” He pulled his pipe from his coat and stuffed it with the crisp, spicy smelling pipeweed he kept hidden in a pouch in another pocket, “I worry ‘bout him.”

“Me too,” Lyla conceded, her heart beating roughly against her ribs, “I-I just don’t know what to do. He doesn’t seem to hear anyone who speaks to him.”

“Aye lass,” Dwalin remarked lowly, placing the lit pipe in his mouth, his eyes narrowing, “But we’ve got to do somethin’.” 

*****  
Lyla wasn’t sure how long she stayed out on the ledge staring out, watching clouds lazily drift by.

It was long enough for Dwalin to finish smoking his pipe and return to the mountain.

It was long enough for her to witness the growing shadows upon the hillside.

And it was long enough for the cold winter breeze to chill her.

All the while the voice whispered in her head, taunting her, making her wish for companionship and reminding her of just how tiring it was to be alone. 

When she could stand it no more, Lyla slowly rose to her feet, stretching out her, now, sore muscles and heading slowly back into the tunnel and towards the treasure room, her feet dragging with each step that led closer and closer to her dwarves. Part of her dreaded going back there, dreaded the growing anger in Thorin’s heart. 

She felt helpless. 

But the other part of her, the more stubborn part, was beginning to grown impatient and flustered by the whole affair.

‘Come now!’ she chastised herself silently, ‘You are a Baggins! You cannot sit here anymore and wallow in worry. You must do something.’

Yes. 

She’d do something.

She wasn’t sure just what that might be, but it would be something!

With a deep, steadying breath, Lyla started to climb back up the pile of gold, listening to the low murmurs of the company and the shifting of gold coins within the treasure room.  
As Lyla neared the top of the hill, the coins beneath her feet shifted, sending the hobbit sliding downward, with a small shower of coins following after her. She with a small grunt of annoyance back at the bottom of the hill of gold, back in the tunnel. Coins pattered on her head and more tumbled down to cover her feet and legs.

The hobbit shifted her legs and kicked the coins in annoyance as she slowly rose. 

“They’ll be the death of me,” She muttered, “Far too many rolling and tumbling pieces for steady footing. Bah and bebother it all.”

But as she turned towards climbing the small hill of gold again, something caught her eye.

Curious, she knelt down and tossed a few coins aside to get a better look. 

Her breath caught in her throat as her finger brushed over a stone, delicately carved and gleaming brightly before her eyes. 

A round stone with many facets, the gem seemed to glow with a soft silver light. Yet, as she gingerly lifted the gem into her hands, what light was in the dim tunnel seemed to catch on the facets of the stone, casting a myriad of colors into Lyla’s eyes. 

She was mesmerized.

It looked to her as she were staring at the very heart of a star, brightened by the silver light of the moon.

Or into the wide expanse of the night sky, marveling at the glittering jewels of the universe above her head.

Carefully, she rubbed a finger across the surface of the stone and stared, wide-eyed, as the light from the stone seemed to wrap around her fingers in soft wisps of silver light. 

“Beautiful,” She breathed curling her fingers around the stone and rising slowly to her feet.

This had to be it.

This had to be the arkenstone.

A smile split across her face as she gently pocketed the gem, giving it a little pat for reassurance as she imagined the smile that would light up the dwarf's face when she presented it to him.

Thorin would be relieved to have this back in his possession.

“And maybe,” She murmured resuming her ascent, “Maybe this will help him come to his senses.”

Of course she supposed wrong.

As soon as she made it up the hill and back into the main part of the treasure room, an infuriated dwarf king descended upon her making Lyla jump back in surprise, nearly  
stumbling down the hill of gold.

“Where do you think you were off to?” He growled venomously, coming to stand before her, “You were tasked with staying in the treasure room and yet I come to find that you’ve disappeared.”

“Well I was-“ She started to explain.

Thorin stepped closer to her, his icy glare sending a shockwave down her spine.

“You disrespected me by disappearing and you forced me to waste time in searching for you. Have you no consideration for anyone but yourself?!”

Lyla frowned, “It’s not like that! I meant no disrespect,” She remarked, “All I was doing was—“

“What? Wandering about? Exploring? Getting into more trouble than you’re worth? What was it?” Thorin snapped, his eye twitching as he grabbed her wrist, “You promised to help me, and at the first opportunity you dart away like some ignorant animal, consumed with satisfying your own whims!”

“That’s not true!” Lyla snapped sending a glare at Thorin, her anger rising.

She’d heard enough.

“You’re being a dolt, do you know that?”

“Excuse me?” Thorin sputtered, taken aback by her retort.

“You heard me, Thorin Oakenshield, “ She was being rather Tookish and petulant again, she knew that, but she couldn’t still her tongue any longer. “You’re a right foul git. You’re being rude and arrogant and not at all yourself. What has gotten into you?”

She glared at him. 

Of course she knew what was going on.

But did Thorin?

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” he snapped, grabbing hold of her wrist, “And you’d do well to remember my status in comparison to yours, little Shireling. I am the king of this mountain. My word is law and you will abide by that law!”

“But you cannot just treat your companions so foul!” She hissed peering up at him, noting his fevered eyes and fiery snarling frown, “You cannot just abuse us so! Every member of this company has earned your respect. Surely you can see THAT!”

“YOU,” he squeezed her wrist, making her wince, “are not a dwarf. That separates you from the rest of the company. They understand their place! But you?! You are a stubborn, willful, spiteful little creature. Your purpose for this quest has been fulfilled, Mistress Baggins.” Lyla winced, “You’ve succeeded, but now, it is time to earn your keep, dear one,” he snarled at her, “Learn to obey my word, or leave this mountain. Those who oppose my word are no friends of mine.” 

He shoved her wrist away from himself, releasing his grip and causing Lyla to fall on her rump before the dwarf.

She stared up at Thorin in shock and annoyance. 

Pain pricked at her heart, but she tried to force the feeling down.

He was not himself. 

This was not Thorin. 

“Thorin,” she murmured, forcing her anger down, “If you would just listen—“

“There’s nothing to listen to!” He hissed darkly, shooting her a glare, “Figure out what side you’re on. You may be dear to me,” He whispered, a flicker of softness shooting through his eyes before beings swallowed up by a rocky glare, “but I will not harbor a disobedient companion.” 

*****

Thorin stewed, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

How dare that…that blasted creature! How dare she usurp his authority, his birthright. 

That cheeky little…

But Thorin stopped and shook his head. 

Why was he so angry? He really had no reason to be. 

He knew he’d been agitated and short tempered with the others, but…

But why? 

‘Maybe Lyla was right’ He thought, a little guiltily. 

He’d been so out of sorts and taken it out on the company…

Thorin retreated to a far corner of the main hall, out of sight of the rest of the company.

He needed to think.

Sitting down gingerly, he ran a hand over the cool metal and the delicated faceted gems, his thoughts wandering.

Perhaps he had been wrong.

‘No.’ A hissing voice whispered as he brushed his hand delicately over the gold, it’s shining surface provoking a warmth in his chest. ‘No they were wrong for second guessing your commands. For suggesting you were weak.’

Had they suggested he was weak?

‘They don’t believe that you can rule.’ The voice continued, and Thorin frowned an annoyance building in his chest.

They doubted him?

‘You have to prove to them, to that hobbit, who the king is. They don’t understand. They don’t trust you. They don’t believe in your birthright.’

‘They mock you. They don't understand the meaning of this treasure. The security it will provide your people They'd give it away. They care nothing for your desires. YOu are right. ’

“I am right,” Thorin muttered, grabbing a handful of coins and plinking them from hand to hand, his annoyance growing.

Lyla had second guessed him. 

Balin

Dwalin

Even Fili and Kili.

They didn’t believe in him.

Thorin growled again.

He’d make them see. 

He was their king. They would follow him. They would obey him.

"Thorin?" Balin's quiet voice pricked at his ear and Thorin sent a glare at the dwarf for disturbing his solitude.

"What is it you want?" He grumbled lowly, challenging Balin with a glare.

Balin, for his part, stood quietly and watched Thorin for a moment, nearly unnerving the king.

And then he cleared his throat, "Don't think that I've come to try to reason with you on any score," Balin's voice was soft, resigned, "I've merely come to tell you, Thorin, that we...have visitors."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the updates. And again, I'm sorry for not posting sooner. I am, however, working on the next chapter. I'm hoping to get it up in the next day or so. Keep your fingers crossed.
> 
> And as always, I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> But, also, take a peek at these lovely authors when you get a chance:
> 
> chappysmom and her myriad of amazing Sherlock stories:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> Kookookarli and her wonderful fem!bilbo au work 'Not the Typical Hobbit Lass' that's simply delightful:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/884729/chapters/1704661
> 
> And Luckyhai5's au fem!bilbo work 'Good Morning' that's a great adventure!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	61. Betrayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hard decision
> 
> Music for this chapter:
> 
> http://youtu.be/Iqf6aDclgSk  
> http://youtu.be/ZhPpsBRClnc  
> "Over Hill"-Hobbit Soundtrack  
> http://youtu.be/En8-9e7y7Dc  
> http://youtu.be/Yd0WqDx5N0g

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You lovely readers, can I apologize to you? I am so terribly sorry that it has taken so long to get this chapter out to you. My week was a rough one! My computer decided to be rather cruel and erase my chapter not once, but twice. SO I've had to rewrite this blasted thing three separate times. And then I was attack by a rather unpleasant spider leaving me rather in need of medication to bring the incessant itching under control...which consequently made me rather drowsy and sort of loopy...I had dreams of Sherlock and hobbits...BUT, that being said, I finally have a chapter for you. I've stayed up late just to get it finished for you amazing readers. I apologize again for the time it's taken to get it up and I hope to get my next chapter up in a far more efficient manner. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and that you know that I think you are all so wonderful.

Something nagged at Gandalf.

A feeling.

A feeling he couldn’t quite indentify.

It left him unsettled and wary of the mountain looming ever larger in his line of sight. 

Thorin Oakenshield’s face flashed through his mind and the feeling increased tenfold.

Something was amiss.

He gazed up from atop his horse, at the growing darkness of the afternoon sky and noted thick dark clouds rolling slowly forth, beginning to cover the great expanse of blue above his head.

He also took notice of the many dark birds winging through the air, their low cries ringing in his ears.

Gandalf frowned thoughtfully. 

*****  
Even though she was still smarting from the verbal lashing, Lyla didn’t hesitate to follow after Thorin towards the balcony overlooking the main gate.

The news of guests (whatever that meant) was certainly something that piqued her curiosity and made her nerves tingle with worry. She wondered if the enemy Gandalf had predicted had arrived at last.

Lyla rubbed her fingers gently over the small ring and flower hanging ‘round her neck as she ghosted behind Fili and Kili and the others. 

She certainly wanted to be near Thorin (protect him somehow), though she wasn’t too sure she wanted to be seen by him at the moment.

She didn’t think she could survive another round of glares or snappish remarks. 

Which is why she chose to duck behind a pillar out of his line of sight. It gave her a good vantage point the others without being noticed herself. 

Though it did little to ease the tension in her shoulders that cascaded down to her stomach and dripped into her toes.

“It is most fortunate!" Thorin called down towards the waiting party standing at the gate, eyes gleaming brightly in the dimming afternoon light, “Most fortunate, indeed, that you have come at last, my cousin.” 

Lyla stared in bewilderment and hesitancy, peeking her head around to gaze down at the large gather of dwarves standing near the gate, their armor gleaming in the setting sun. Lyla caught flashes of silver interspersed with golden filigree markings worked into their breastplates and helmets. Some held large battle axes while others favored swords. And each of them bore spectacular, long beards, their hardened, glaring eyes framed by bushy brows. 

One of them stepped forward, his long silver hair brushing past his shoulders in tiny, tidy braids held firm by small golden beads, and a stern frown upon his lips. 

“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain of Erebor,” the dwarf’s long braided beard nearly brushed the ground as he bowed his head out of respect to his cousin.

This was Dain Ironfoot. 

Lyla stared unabashedly curious from her shadowed nook behind the stone pillar, watching the dwarf as he straightened, tucking his helmet more firmly under his arm. Dain peered upwards, eyes shifting carefully to assess the rest of the company members who stood near Thorin. He smiled when he noted Balin and Dwalin both standing near Thorin and his smile turned into a grin when his gaze flittered over Fili and Kili’s forms. 

But when he caught sight of her, skulking behind the pillar as she was, Dain’s gaze turned curious and thoughtful. His eyes narrowed, the main care lines he bore on his face deepening, and he frowned lightly before stilling his features and turning his gaze back towards Thorin.

“I have received your missive, cousin,” Dain called out, a small smile returning to his bearded face, “And I must say that it is a most welcome sight to see you returned to your home, though your messenger hinted that fortifiers and an army were required.”

Dain shot another curious gaze at Lyla who pressed herself further into the shadows.

There was something unsettling about the dwarf’s gaze. 

Thorin nodded stiffly, “Indeed you are correct,” Thorin’s voice was low but powerful. “There are many who might stake claim on our newly recovered mountain. Some who have hindered our travels and made this journey a perilous one.” Thorin frowned, a glint of hesitancy marring his features as his gaze shifted to regard the entirety of the army of dwarves that stood before him, “But that is a matter we should discuss in a far more private location. Issue your orders to set up your camps and you, cousin, come in and join me. There is a great many things to plan for.” 

“I must first, ask a question of you, cousin,” Dain remarked quickly taking a step forward as Thorin started to turn away.

The king stopped stiffly and peered down at Dain carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“And just what might that be?” He murmured softly, a dangerous tone lacing through his words, though Lyla wasn’t sure if Dain caught it.

The dwarf appeared completely unruffled as he gazed back at Thorin.

“I must ask you about the party of men and elves about a half day’s march from here. Are they friend or foe? As you said, there are many who have hindered your journey. Should we prepare for battle against them or do they come in peace?”

Thorin’s face turned thoughtful, his eyes narrowed and calculating, glittering brightly in the now dim light. 

“Men and elves,” Thorin muttered carefully, is tone level, “how many are there?”

“The scouts who spotted the party related that here are hundreds. Far more elves than men, but many march towards this mountain, armored for battle, it would appear. About a half days march from here.”

Thorin nodded quickly, “Yes,” he muttered, “They claim that an enemy approaches. They’ve been in allegiance with us since the beginning, though,” And Thorin’s gaze hardened, and Lyla’s heart flipped in her chest. “Though it is difficult to say where loyalties lie when gold is involved. We should discuss this in private I feel, cousin, do come up. Quickly.” 

Thorin had turned on his heel, his movements forceful and decided as he retreated back into the mountain.

Lyla was hot on his heels, her worry rising.

“What do you mean you don’t know their loyalties?” She remarked, jogging to keep up with Thorin’s quick pace, “They’ve been nothing but loyal to you Thorin. They’ve helped us in every way possible.”

Thorin stopped so abruptly that Lyla nearly collided with the dwarf had he not grasped her shoulders tightly to steady her.

Lyla gazed up in the conflicted face of Thorin Oakenshield and her heart jerked violently.

The dwarf sighed his brow furrowed, hair sweeping over his shoulders as he bowed his head. “You do not understand politics dear one,” He murmured softly (far softer than he had spoken to her not too long ago), “You care nothing for riches or gold. Your heart remains with your rolling hills and little rivers and the comforts of a warm meal and cheerful company. You cannot begin to understand the complexities that gold brings to people’s lives.”

Lyla gaped at the dwarf completely flummoxed by his remark. Was he truly making this remark?

“I don’t see what caring about gold has to do with anything,” She remarked peering into Thorin’s eyes, “The elves and men have been kind to us. They slayed the dragon, at the cost of their homes, their people! And they come here to defend your mountain against an enemy. Why would you doubt them?”

“I’ve lived many years, Givashel,” Thorin rubbed his hands along her arms slowly, gently, “and seen many brought to ruin over gold and deceit. I am hesitant to trust anyone.”  
But then Thorin smiled at her softly, “Though, perhaps with your help, we might know for certain the intentions of these men and elves.” 

Lyla stared back confusedly.

Thorin’s attitude had shifted so suddenly.

His kindness had returned so quickly.

And now he was asking for her help?

It didn’t make sense. 

“I don’t really see how I can be of any help to you,” She replied hesitantly, warily.

Something felt off. 

But Thorin only smiled, “Rest assured, I have the utmost confidence in your abilities to help me.” Thorin placed a soft kiss on Lyla’s forehead, “Now come, dear one, we must go and meet my cousin. Then you’ll know everything.”

*****  
Dain Ironfoot considered himself to be a fair judge of character. He fancied that he could accurately deduce a person’s worth (in battle in particular) by the appearance they present. However, he also knew that appearances could deceive and the most unlikely of creatures could present themselves to be the hardiest of warriors.

He’d met many a dwarf who’d done that.

Dis had been a prime example.

But, as he sat across from his cousin in the upper halls of the mountain, in an isolated and dimly lit corridor, his mind could not begin to fathom the reliability of the creature sitting closest to the king under the mountain. 

A hobbit, Balin had told him.

A hobbit from some place called The Shire.

“This is Master Baggins,” Dwalin murmured with a small grin, “Our resident burglar.” 

Dain gazed thoughtfully at the creature, assessing his every move. However, this…hobbit…completely baffled him. Not one ounce of armor adorned the scrawny creature. He sat in nothing but breeches and an overly large shirt.

He wasn’t even wearing shoes.

And with nary but a tiny little sword strapped around his waist, the ‘burglar’ as he was referred to seemed completely out of his depth when it came to this meeting. 

Was he even old enough to be fighting with seasoned veterans of war? The creature had a mess of short curly hair atop his head, a smooth, soft face that was devoid of any beard.  
Even Kili had more hair on his chin than this little, bootless being.

For a moment Dain entertained the thought that this little hobbit—Master Baggins he amended—from The Shire was a woman. 

However, the absurdity of that thought had his shooing the idea completely from his mind. 

His cousin would NEVER have stood for such a thing.

And yet, as he peered at Balin and Dwalin (and even Thorin), he could tell that there was more to this hobbit than he supposed. 

Their resident burglar. 

How interesting and odd, it seemed, to have a hobbit travel on a quest with a company of dwarves. 

Who might have persuaded this creature to enter a quest that he would gain nothing from?

Dain’s thoughts took on a darker tone and he wondered…

Perhaps he needed to investigate this creature further.

*****  
For a moment Thorin had been surprised that Balin and Dwalin had jumped to introduce Lyla to Dain. He wondered by they never stated the hobbit’s first name, only referring to 

her as ‘Master Baggins’. 

It seemed a bit odd.

But more pressing issues were at hand and he’d remedy things later should confusion arise. 

Thorin fought a small smile that formed on his lips as he thought of his hobbit. She would be the key to everything. She would help him sort through these confusing thoughts.  
She would reassure him.

‘She will deceive you…’ A hissing voice murmured in his head, ‘She will betray you. She will leave you.’

‘No.’ the logical part of his brain remark, fighting the feelings of anger that were starting to rise in his chest, ‘She won’t do that. She never would.’

‘She will betray you. Destroy you.’ 

‘No.’

“Thorin?”

The dwarf snapped back to attention and gave Dain a small smile of appreciation.

“Forgive me,” He murmured, “I find myself distract by many pressing matters.” 

His hand sought Lyla’s and he gave her delicate fingers a small squeeze for reassurance. 

Reassurance for what though, he was not certain.

“Now tell me cousin,” Dain remarked, eyes flicking between Thorin’s face and his arm, “What is so urgent and secret that you must converse with me in the darkened shadows of your upper halls? My men are trustworthy, surely you know that.” 

Thorin nodded his head slowly, his smile placating, “Of course I understand that. I do know that your men, the dwarves, our people, would never betray. But I wouldn’t want to incite any unnecessary unease for your men.”

Dain’s brows furrowed, “You think that the men and elves will betray you? They are untrustworthy?”

“No!” 

Thorin turned a surprised gaze towards Lyla. Her eyes were wide, a frown on her face as she blinked rapidly back at Dain, “Of course not. They’ve aided this quest many times. We have no reason to doubt mistrust them or question their loyalty.” 

Thorin’s eyes narrowed at that statement, “That is not true,” He muttered releasing Lyla’s hand and turning back to Dain his annoyance flaring at the hobbit’s outburst, “You know of the contention with the elves. And with the issues within the town of men, it does not set me at ease to trust anyone. We know not who might be working against us.”

“But-“

Thorin’s hand returned to Lyla’s and he gave a strong squeeze to silence her.

“However,” He murmured, shooting Lyla a warning look. 

And then a smile.

“We have someone who these men and elves seem to trust implicitly.”

“The hobbit?” 

Thorin turned his gaze back towards Dain and noted the way his cousin’s brow was furrowed in confusion.

“How might this hobbit assist in your… inquiry into their trust?” Dain’s face stilled and his eyes turned thoughtful, “You mean to send Master Baggins to them. To spy on them?”

“I know that the elves will never fully trust any other member of our company aside from our burglar. And I trust Master Baggins to remain faithful to our cause.”

Thorin regard the skepticism in Dain’s eyes and his annoyance flared higher.

‘They doubt you’ the hissing voice whispered, ‘They doubt your authority, your status. They doubt your judgment.

“I will not be swayed on this, cousin,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes, “You must trust me on this.”

Dain narrowed his own eyes, though not in at threatening manner. And then he sighed.

“Very well, we’ll do it your way.” 

*****  
Lyla’s head was spinning as Dain Ironfoot took his leave to attend to his own men. He would return, he said, within the next hour, to discuss fortifications and preparations to defend Erebor from any and all threats. 

“I’ll send my birds out again to report back concerning the movement of your expected guests,” He murmured shooting Lyla another thoughtful glance, “We’ll be ready when they arrive.” 

And then the silver-haired dwarf bowed to Thorin, Balin and Dwalin and headed towards the stairs and the entrance out of the mountain. 

Concern gnawed at Lyla, her fingers tingled and shook and she cast a worried glance at Dwalin who sat, stiffly, eyes warily assessing his friend and king. 

This was not good. 

But Lyla was not going to leave Thorin in doubt of her feelings on the subject. 

“I can’t do this,” she murmured quietly, pulling her hand away from Thorin’s grip. “I can’t spy on those I claim to find friendship with.”

Thorin’s eyes flashed as his head whipped around to regard her, “Are you questioning my judgments?” he retorted, his teeth clenching, attitude shifting so suddenly that it left Lyla’s head spinning, “Think ye that your perceptions are so reliable on the matter? Gold is always a motivator Lyla Baggins,” Thorin huffed, rising and straightening his coat, “And those who have helped us have also hindered our journey as well! Those elves imprisoned us,” Thorin leaned forward, and pulled her to her feet, his nose brushing against Lyla’s, his breath ghosting her cheek, “Can you so quickly forget that injustice inflicted upon the company you claim to care so much for?” 

Lyla’s eyes narrowed. “I never said that I didn’t care for the company,” she remarked quietly leaning away from Thorin. 

She would not allow him to attempt to persuade her thoughts in such a way! 

“I never said I forgot about what happened in Mirkwood.”

She had to repress a shudder at the memory. It was still so fresh, still brought back that heart-pounding panic. 

Now was not the time to dwell on such things. 

There were more important things to attend to.

“All I mean Thorin,” she mumbled quietly gazing into the brightly blazing blue eyes of her dwarf, “All I really mean is that there has been so much loss on both sides. Shall we not set aside this feud and trust each other?” 

Thorin stiffened and his eyes narrowed as he pushed her away from himself slowly, a frown pulling at his lips.

“We? So you think you know the struggle of the dwarves—MY people—do you little Halfling,” Lyla cringed as the word left his mouth (a word he KNEW would bother her). But Thorin was hard pressed to acknowledge Lyla’s emotions. Instead he railed against the hobbit standing before him, “I did not know that you were so fond of elves,” He spat, his eyes flashing, “Your sympathies seem to be changing of late. Are you having second thoughts about where your true loyalties lie?”

“My-my loyalties?” Lyla remarked confused, “I am not talking about my loyalties. Nor do I begin to understand the type of pain that comes from your misfortunes,” the hobbit stood straighter staring Thorin square in the face, her lips pursed into a small line, “But there are bigger problems. You cannot simply hold on to petty differences. Not now after all the good the elves have done for you! They’ve more than repaid the debt they owe your people. An enemy marches towards you Thorin. Legolas helped me escape Azog. He saved my life. You have to acknowledge that.”

Thorin growled lowly, “but his father imprisoned me and my men. His father abandoned my people when Smaug descended upon Erebor. I cannot forget such a transgression. He betrayed my grandfather, betrayed my father. I cannot forget such actions and one small act of kindness does not undo over a century of ill will.” 

“You are neither of them. And you cannot ask me to do this Thorin,” Lyla murmured, a strange fear filling her veins, “I cannot betray those I consider to be friends. I cannot break Gandalf’s trust like that. I cannot provoke more mistrust between you and the elves. It is wrong.” 

“I cannot trust those elves so easily as you can. I believe, to some degree they are seeking gold in reparation for their ‘misfortunes’. I do not know if this supposed enemy is real or merely a fabrication on their part.”

“I don’t believe that they would do that, Thorin,” she remarked, “What a selfish thing to even consider! And if it is gold they seek, surely they can have my share? I do not need it and it would be put to far better use with them than myself.”

“You would put your concern for those…elves,” The word came out as a hiss, “And that wizard over…” Thorin trailed off his voice going quiet, “After all that we’ve gone through…all…” Thorin suddenly growled, “I will not let you just throw away your share of the treasure for some gold-seeking parasites. You may care for them more than…” He trailed off again and growled, “But I will not allow you to give away something so valuable as that. Your share shall remain with the rest until this foolish thought has left your head.”

Lyla’s heart sank at the realization of what Thorin must have been thinking. Oh Aule he had it wrong!

But Thorin didn’t seem to acknowledge any doubt in his assumptions.

“Thorin, you don’t understand,” She began, You’re are wrong to assume that—“

Instead of letting her finish, however, the dwarf king growled again and his eyes darkened, a frown pulling at his lips as he made to take a step towards Lyla, his hands balling into fists. 

Until Dwalin came to stand next to her, his gaze hard as he stared back at Thorin.

“Aye,” he said quietly, dangerously, “I think we best continue this another time.” 

Another hand came to rest on Lyla’s shoulder and she turned to see Fili standing next to Balin, eyeing her carefully, his face neutral.

But his eyes held a warning glance.

Lyla’s eyes flicked between the three dwarves surrounding her and she noted the way Thorin’s eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted between his nephew and closest friend as they stood like sentinels on either side of her. 

Thorin sighed and shot Lyla another confused and contemplative look, the frown still pulling at his face. 

He didn’t say anything as he backed up a few paces and then turned quickly on his heel striding back towards the treasure room.

Lyla made to follow after him, but the grip on her shoulder never loosened.

“I wouldn’t go after him,” Fili’s voice was low, resigned, “Something’s eating at him right now and it’d be best not to provoke his anger further.”

“Aye lass,” Dwalin rested his hand on her other shoulder, “Best to leave this be fer now.”

Lyla tugged herself from her companions’ grip and turned to face them with a small smile. 

“I can’t,” She remarked, “There’s something wrong with him. Can’t you see it? It’s more than just being bothered,” She noted the way Fili’s eyes dimmed and how Dwalin’s stoic form slumped slightly, “I can’t just ignore it. I can’t just leave him alone. I-I…I have to explain. Make him see…” she trailed off trying to sort through her feelings. 

“I can’t abandon him. I have to do something. If this is the gold sickness-”

“Aye lass, it might be,” Balin remarked, “But what do you expect to do about it?”

“I-“ Lyla swallowed back the rising worry, “I don’t know.” She sighed, “But I can’t hide from him forever. I made a promise. And I-he’s…I’m…” She trailed off a warm heat rising on her neck as she gazed at Dwalin and Fili and the other dwarves who were peering at her curiously.

Dwalin smiled lightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “Aye lass, I know.” He gave her a small clap on the back. “But, he’s not in his right mind. He’ll not recognize friend from foe. 

Give him space. A chance to sort through this. And I’ll give him a good talkin’ to. Ye need not worry about havin’ to spy for Thorin’s amusement.”

“But what about—“ 

But two fingers on her lips silenced the hobbit’s protests as Fili tugged her to turn towards him.

“You listen to me,” He muttered, “You are stubborn. Probably as stubborn as my uncle,” Fili snorted at the thought and shook his head lightly, “And while it’s certainly an admirable trait, and highly interesting to watch you verbally spar against him, I won’t let you put yourself in danger willingly.” Fili gave her shoulders a light squeeze as he smiled grimly at her, his green eyes dimming, “I know he cares for you. As do Kili and I. But Dwalin is right. He’s not himself. You have to give him a chance to sort through this. And then we’ll approach him. For now, just take a moment and rest. Gandalf will be here soon enough and maybe HE can talk some sense into my uncle.”

But even as she nodded her head in agreement to maintain distance with Thorin, her mind was conjuring up plans to somehow contact Gandalf and the others, to warn them of Thorin’s mistrust. 

She had to inform them. Sort through this mess and figure out how to help Thorin. 

Especially if there truly was an enemy marching on the mountain.

Her mind was whirling with possibilities as she trailed after Balin and the others and headed back towards the treasure room. 

She noted that Bofur and Bifur were a few feet away, still sifting through gold and gems. Further up, towards one of the larger pillars in the room, Dori, Ori and Oin were sifting through more gold. And across the room, the others were doing the same. 

Lyla’s hand found the inside of her pocket as she slowly sank to the ground, cold, golden objects tinkling as she jostled them about. Her fingers wrapped around the stone tucked away from prying eyes and she pondered what to do.

Part of her wanted to shout that she’d discovered the stone and set the whole search at rest. But she didn’t think it was fair to Thorin. 

She wanted to give him the stone personally, she wanted him to see it before anyone else. 

But, with recent developments, she wasn’t sure when that would happen. 

And then a thought sparked in her brain and she groaned inwardly at the utter stupidity and foolishness of it all. 

She couldn’t do that to him. 

He’d never forgive her. 

Lyla cast the thought from her mind and forced herself to dwell on the absurdity of the notion and focus, instead, on more practical ways to aid Thorin and Gandalf and the others. 

In the end, though, it was Dain’s reappearance and obvious disdain for Lyla that solidified her decision. 

When he’d returned to the mountain and Dwalin informed him that Lyla would not, in fact, be spying on the men and elves for Thorin (who still refused to meet he hobbit’s gaze), 

Lyla became the recipient of a most fearsome glare. The silver haired dwarf frowned deeply, his eyes crinkling around the edges as they narrowed as he appraised her.

But it wasn’t until, he approached her when she was alone that Lyla understood the true displeasure he had in her company. 

“You think that you can go back on your word to my cousin?” He grumbled lowly, his deep voice reminding her so much of Thorin that it made her heart ache.

“I never said that I would assist in the endeavor,” She murmured her reply, offended at his accusation, “He made the assumption that I would participate in this foolishness without consulting me about it.”

Dain stepped closer, making Lyla’s heart hammer in her chest as the gap between dwarf and hobbit diminished considerably. The towering creature peered down his nose at Lyla and snarled lightly.

“Never think to assume that you can insult my cousin in my presence,” He snapped at her, “I do not know what he sees in you and clearly he’s coming to realize that your…affiliation with his enemy runs far deeper than even his eyes could perceive. You have this company trusting you. You’ve blinded them with your deceptions. But you are no dwarf. You do not understand my cousin, or our customs. You are an outsider and outsiders will always be doubted and distrusted.” 

Lyla swallowed back the fear and sent a glare towards Dain, straightening her back and pushing her shoulders back as she regarded the suspicious dwarf before her. 

“Do not think that you know me, Master Dain,” She replied lowly, agitatedly, “You have never met me and you have no right to question my character. I will not assist Thorin because of principle. It is a bad decision and I will not stand for it. But to say that I care little for him or of this company and their endeavors is a falsehood.” 

Lyla sighed.

“But I will not trouble you with a lengthy explanation,” She peered into Dain’s skeptical face, “I doubt you’d believe me anyway. You are very loyal to Thorin and he deserves your loyalty. Though,” And Lyla smiled, “I wish that dwarves were more trusting of others.” 

With that, Lyla retreated and then slid past Dain and headed closer to the other company members, willing her heart to cease its incessantly painful pounding against her chest. 

Thorin didn’t trust her.

Dain didn’t trust her. 

They didn’t trust Gandalf and the elves and men.

Her options had grown slim and she realized that her foolish, absurd thought might be the only thing to save those she cared for.

Oh Aule it was foolish though and Thorin…

Oh Thorin.

As Lyla slipped past the other dwarves, and slowly made her way to a little nook off to the left, she hoped that Thorin would forgive her one day for what she was about to do.

Gazing around to make sure she wasn’t being observed (for she knew that no one could really help her with this task), Lyla quietly slipped the ring from her pocket and placed the cool metal on her finger once more.

All the dread and anguish she felt nearly made her knees buckle as a small gasp escaped her lips.

Forcing the emotions aside, Lyla glared at her surroundings, dimmed by the ring’s power, and slowly, cautiously made her way towards the main entrance, and to the large carved stone doors that were crumbling and cracking.

The large stone doors that would lead her out into the night air and towads Gandalf’s camp. 

She had to warn them. 

And give them a bartering chip to provoke Thorin’s cooperation.

They couldn’t waste any more time. 

Carefully and warily, Lyla skirted around as much of Dain’s camp as she could, warily stepping to avoid making any noise. She had to stop every few paces and duck behind a tent or a larger rock in order to prevent being trampled by the dwarves that were roaming in groups among the large tent-city they’d constructed. 

She caught snatches of conversation and the small caws of the many ravens that sat perched on tent poles and tree branches, but for the most part she tried to ignore any distraction as she slowly slipped around lumbering, noisy footfalls and avoided the brightly burning fires.

She only really started to breathe again when she was a good distance from Dain’s and heading down the path towards the desolated city of Dale, where she hoped to meet up with Gandalf’s company. 

If they were only a half day’s journey to Erebor, Dale seemed a likely place. 

The wind bit at her face as she stumbled quickly through the dark.

*****  
It was Legolas who first noticed her.

Although he didn’t see her to begin with. 

The spritely elf fired an arrow into the darkness, hearing her hastily placed, and rather loud footsteps. With a small shriek of surprise, Lyla dropped to the ground in fear, as she ripped the ring from her finger. 

It was the second time the blonde elf had nearly impaled her with one of his arrows.

“It’s me!” She breathed, winded by her quick pace and sudden attack, “Lyla Baggins!”

“Mistress Baggins?” Legolas sounded surprised as she heard the low, soft footfalls coming closer. 

Peeking her head up, She noted the elf’s boots and the thing pale silhouetted he cut against the dark sky as the moonlight cast a faint glow upon the fair-haired elf. 

She could just make out the slightest of frowns upon Legolas’ face as he helped her to a standing position, dusting off her shirt, his grip never leaving her arm.

“Why do you travel so late at night and all alone?” He questioned quickly, “What has brought out into this desolated wilderness without your normal company,” Lyla saw the faintest  
of smirks grace Legolas’ face, “Tell me, where is your dwarf protector, Master Oakenshield. Surely he did not condone this solitary quest.”

Lyla did not return the smile.

Her heart sank further into her stomach instead and soon enough Legolas’ own grin slipped slowly from his face as he regarded the hobbit carefully, his blue eyes narrowing.

“What troubles you little one?” he murmured, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Lyla cringed as she sighed.

“It is for Thorin that I come. We…there’s…there’s a problem and I need to rectify it quickly. Where is Gandalf? I have to speak with him.”

Legolas nodded once, his eyes still searching her face carefully, “He is conversing with my father. We planned to march at dawn, though,” Legolas hesitated as he searched her eyes, “I believe we may need to leave sooner than that. Come.” 

The elf prince’s strides were wide and rapid as he nudge Lyla along, through the camp of elves and men who gaped at the hobbit with surprise as she passed tent after tent, fire after glowing warm fire. 

Until she came to the largest tent at the center of their campsite. 

It was here that Legolas stopped her movements with a tug on her shoulder as he slowly walked past her and opened the flap. With a small gesture of his head, he bid the hobbit enter. 

And, with a small gulp of fear as he stomach twisted in knots, enter she did.

The air was far warmer than outside and so brightly lit that Lyla was forced to squint.

But even while squinting Lyla could make out three very curious faces staring back at her. Thranduil, Bard and Gandalf say around a small table littered with maps and scrolls, their head turned to face the intruder into their tent. 

“Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf remarked as the hobbit blinked a few times to clear her vision, “What news do you bring from The Lonely Mountain.”

Again Lyla cringed.

“Nothing good Gandalf,” She murmured taking in Gandalf’s calm expression as Legolas steered her into a chair and draped a blanket around her shoulders.

Nodding grateful at the elf, she turned back towards the grey wizard and sighed.

“My dear, what on earth is the matter?” Gandalf questioned coming to stand a little closer to Lyla, his eyes quietly assessing her expression, his lips pursing in a thin line.

Lyla fidgeted and gazed at the ground, “Thorin is…not himself Gandalf. Something has gotten a hold of him and he suspects that you and Bard and the others are plotting against him. He doubts you, doubts that an enemy is marching on the mountain.”

“The fool,” Lyla’s head shot up as Thranduil spoke quietly his blue eyes narrowed towards the hobbit, “He thinks that we come to take his treasure?”

Thranduil stared at Lyla calmly, his rich blue eyes leaving her unnerved and uneasy.

But she nodded in regards to the elf king’s question.

Bard swore and rose to his feet, “He thinks that we come to trick him? Why?” He questioned, stepping closer to Lyla, “Why would he doubt us?”

“And he cares so little for the welfare of the people who destroyed the dragon at the cost of their own homes,” Thranduil remarked lowly, raising his brow slightly in challenge to Lyla, “Why do you comet o tell us this news?”

“To-to seek your help. I don’t think that you are trying to trick Thorin,” Lyla murmured slowly, her gaze trapped by Thranduil’s calculating one, “I believe that what you speak is the truth, that a war is coming. And we have to prepare, but Thorin is so caught up in his suspicions that he can’t see what’s happening around him! And then with Dain and his men coming from the Iron Hills, suspicion is rising quickly. We have to stop this before it gets worse. We have to do something before the enemy arrives and destroys the dwarves.”

“But it would seem,” Thranduil murmured lowly, his voice cold as he turned more fully to face the hobbit, “your dwarves care nothing for the welfare of others. After all the sacrifices that these men and my men have made, The great Thorin Oakenshield will still deny us our reparation for defeating a dragon and losing a great deal in the process.”  
Lyla frowned at the elf king, her patience wearing thin with the whole affair.

“It is not like that,” She muttered glaring at Thranduil, who stared back at her curiously, “I know that the company cares about what has happened. If we hadn’t awoken the dragon…I know you deserve compensation—more than that really—and I know that Thorin understands that too, as do the rest of the company. But, like I said, Thorin is not himself and no one can reason with him.”

“What, then are we to do little hobbit?” Bard cut in, his gaze also trained on her, eyes searching her face, “What can we do to convince him of our loyalty and need if it is proof that he demands?”

Lyla swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat as she slowly shrugged the blanket from her shoulders and dragged herself to her feet.

“He will not consider your plea if you do not have something to motivate him to listen,” she shuddered, “I have a…bargaining chip for you to use.”

Slowly, carefully, Lyla reached into her pocket and pulled out the glittering, shining beautiful stone.

The arkenstone. 

Even though this was the second time she’d seen the beautiful gem, she was still struck with awe as she gazed at the tiny wisps of light cascading delicately from the heart of the rock itself, glittering and reflecting back upon the faces of the stunned group that stood before her.

Thranduil, in particular, Lyla noted, was struck by the presentation of the stone and he reached forward hesitantly to lay a soft hand upon the sparkling gem. “Why would you bring this to us?” He murmured softly, his eyes flicking between the arkenstone and Lyla’s face, “Why give up this treasure?”

Lyla sighed and gazed at Bard and Then Gandalf before returning her gaze to Thranduil.

“Because Thorin Oakenshield loves this stone. It is where his heart rests. He’d give anything to get it back. Even my share of the treasure. And with it, you-you can assure his loyalty and trust. And maybe you can get him to believe that the enemy marching on the mountain is real.” 

“You would betray him to save him?” Bard sounded confused.

‘Betray’

The word made the knots in Lyla’s stomach tighten though it rang with truth.

She was betraying Thorin.

All she could do was nod at the bowman, trying to fight back the emotions rising in her throat and filling her eyes. 

“If it will save him, then yes.” She sighed suddenly feeling exhausted, “I’m tired of this whole affair. I don’t care about gold. I don’t care about treasure or power or any of it. I care about…him. About all of them. About you.” She gazed at Gandalf who was frowning, his eyes filled with a deep sadness, “I cannot stand idly by and watch him fall if I knew that there was something I could have done. Nor will I stand by and watch you and your people suffer. It was my fault that Smaug attacked your city and so it must be me who remedies the situation. And if this will save him, and you, I’ll gladly give the arkentstone to you.”

Very carefully, Lyla stepped towards Bard and hesitantly dropped the brightly shining stone in the stunned bowman’s hands.

His eyes went wide as he gazed into Lyla’s eyes, and his fingers curled around the smooth, round, radiating and beautiful treasure in his palms, “You would risk his wrath? You would put your safety aside for his and ours? Why?”

“Because...I love him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Thoughts and comments are certainly appreciated and adored!
> 
> And if you are looking for some amazing works to read, check out these lovely authors. :) They make me happy:
> 
> chappysmom who has far too many amazing stories to count: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> kookookarli and her lovely fem!bilbo 'Not The Typical Hobbit Lass': 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/884729/chapters/1704661
> 
> And of course
> 
> luckyhai5 and her amazing fem!bilbo adventure 'Good Morning':
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/821270/chapters/1556347


	62. A Bargaining Chip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart. 
> 
> Music:  
> http://youtu.be/H4PjVsKyTF4  
> http://youtu.be/RxjdjCAefTQ  
> http://youtu.be/A--9yJwQeN8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. I've rewritten this chapter at least five times and I'm not sure if I'm completely satisfied with it. That being said, if I keep stewing over it, I might never finish the darn thing. And you deserve to be able to read something...right?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Dain’s suspicions were aroused the moment he realized he could not locate the hobbit. 

The creature had slipped away somewhere and the dwarf wondered if, perhaps, Master Baggins had slipped outside of the mountain. 

His eyes narrowed as he gazed around the treasure room and regarded the dwarves that milled about.

But he could find no hint of the hobbit. 

A frown tugged at his lips as he caught a glimpse of Thorin studying the wall of armor half buried in treasure and he wondered at how a creature such as a hobbit could have garnered so much affection and praise from the king under the mountain. 

And his closest advisors too! 

Dwalin and Balin and the others seemed so content to regard this…hobbit…with easy smiles and confidence in his character. But something was off. 

Something about the hobbit and his behavior was odd. 

It was most disconcerting.

And he was determined to find out just what this creature’s motivations were.

*****  
They tried to convince her to stay, though Lyla adamantly refused such an idea. 

It was absurd. 

Ridiculous.

And far too cowardly, no matter what anyone tried to convince her of.

“You would be most welcome here,” Legolas remarked giving her a warm, but pitying smile. “You have certainly shown your honor and we are indebted to your services.”

Despite their solicitous demeanor and genuine smiles directed her way, Lyla knew that it would be wrong. 

“I can’t. I have to go back,” She murmured quietly, averting her eyes from the arkenstone. “They will wonder where I am. It is wrong not to return.”

Gandalf seemed to understand her reason and gave her a kind smile. “This is one adventure I had not anticipated, Lyla Baggins,” He remarked thoughtfully, “Many diversions have occurred and much has been gained and lost. Though,” Gandalf paused and with a soft sigh, he rose to his feet, cradling his staff carefully in his right hand, “my dear, it would seem now, more than ever, that your presence here is fate. Your being here is like a small stone that starts an avalanche. Let us hope that some good will come from all of this.”  
The grey wizard bent closer to the hobbit, and gathered Lyla into his arms in a warm, grandfatherly embrace.

“Go now, my dear, may the power of elves and men watch over you” He whispered softly in her ear, “And look for our coming before the first rays of dawn’s light.” 

Lyla nodded as the wizard pulled away from Gandalf and with a quick glance at Bard with the arkentstone, Lyla retreated from the tent before she could doubt her decision any further. 

As she retreated back into the darkness of the outside world, however, someone followed after her.

“Mistress Baggins.” 

Lyla froze and turned slowly, surprised.

“You are a most curious creature,” Thranduil murmured softly, eyes trained on Lyla, studying her carefully, “And love is certainly a harsh mistress if you feel the need to return. You know what awaits you there, do you not?”

Lyla nodded her head, swallowing back the emotions threatening to burst forth, “Yes. I know.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, “And still you choose that fate. You choose his wrath when you could stay here and be well protected and far better cared for than you would be in that mountain.”

Lyla bristled at that comment. 

“What do you mean by coming out here and telling me this? I’ve told you already. I care about them,” She muttered, narrowing her eyes at the elf king, “And I know they care about me. Nothing has changed that and to think so ill of the company does nothing to earn your good favor in my eyes, master elf.” 

“Then why provoke Thorin Oakenshield’s ire by giving the one gem in his mountain that he cares for more than any other?” Thranduil’s tone remained level, but one brow raised in question, “You would be far safer if you remained here. A dwarf’s temper can be a most foul thing.”

Lyla frowned, “I am not coward. And I know what anger will be awaiting me there. But I will not hide away. I will stand and defend myself and my actions. I did it for his own good. I am not ashamed of that.”l

“Hmm,” Thranduil replied quietly, “Well Master Baggins, let my warning stand with you, whatever you decide. I think it a foolish endeavor to align yourself with the fickle whims of the dwarves.”

Lyla huffed. “Yes. As I recall, you are most suspicious of their race, are you not? Cast them into your prison without a second thought.” Lyla could feel her annoyance sparking brighter as she stepped closer to the towering elf king, “You’d have left them there to rot to satiate your pride and stubbornness.” Lyla snorted, “You and Thorin are not so different, you know. Both as proud and kingly as any of your race. But I wonder which of you will be the better and put this ridiculous feud to rest? It is a most tedious affair to deal with.” 

She noted how the air had gone silent, the dull murmurs of elf and man dying down as she stood, peering up into the stoic face of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood. 

She supposed that perhaps no one had ever spoken to an elf king in such a manner.

She blamed her Took blood and far too little sleep for her short temper. 

Lyla sighed, “Forgive me, I did not come here to initiate a contentious conversation with you. I came to spare us all from such tedium.” 

“Yes, she is a most spirited little creature, is she not?” A familiar, gruff voice echoed in Lyla’s ears, making her eyes go wide.

She spun around with a gape and a then a smile at the tall form who stood, half hidden by shadows.

“Master Beorn!” She exclaimed, “You are alive!” 

Beorn stepped closer to Thranduil and Lyla a small smile on his scruffy face, “Yes indeed, little bunny, I am quite well! I’ve taken on the role of jail keeper at the moment,” He grinned at Lyla’s confused face but did not elaborate further. Instead, he turned towards Thranduil who stood calmly watching the interaction between giant and hobbit, “And I suggest, Master elf, that we let this little rabbit be on her way. Far too busy for the likes of us!” Beorn turned and gave her a wink, “Though I still may have to kidnap you away from those dwarves. Hardly dressed for such cold weather and out all alone. Protectors indeed!”

The giant frowned and tutted like a mother hen as he came closer.

“Indeed,” Thranduil remarked, peering thoughtfully at the hobbit, no doubt catching onto her embarrassment and the growing tint upon her cheeks, “which is why I have a cloak for her to borrow,” 

Thranduil nodded his head and Legolas slowly came forward, a small cloak tucked under his arms, a small smile on his face as he hesitantly approached Lyla.

The hobbit stood frozen as the elf prince wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, and clasped the fabric together with a small leaf clip at her throat.

“You are most welcome ally, Lyla Baggins,” He murmured with a soft grin, “A stubborn and persistent creature, who attracts all manner of attention and trouble. And I am most fortunate to have met you.” Legolas gave her arms a gentle squeeze, “Travel safely, little one, and know that you are always welcome within our camp.”

Thranduil and Legolas gave Lyla a soft bow and returned back to the tent, leaving Beorn to escort the stunned hobbit towards the edge of the camp.

*****  
“A most curious creature indeed,” Thranduil muttered more to himself than anyone else as he reentered the warm tent and noted that Bard had hidden away the arkenstone and was quietly discussing plans with Gandalf.

Thranduil did not know what to make of the hobbit. 

He was certain, however, that her presence would influence the fortunes of all involved in this bitter war. 

She’d already begun to change things.

Though for good or ill, he could not decide. 

“She is a most interesting creature,” Gandalf remarked, “Is she not?”

Thranduil nodded slowly in agreement, but his thoughts were focused on something else. 

Something that troubled him greatly.

“There is something,” He murmured softly, regarding Gandalf carefully, “Something dark surrounding that creature.”

Something clung to the hobbit’s seemingly innocent spirit. Something dark haunted her steps. 

It set him ill at ease and roused his curiosity.

‘A most curious creature.’

*****  
Hidden once more beneath the power of the ring, Lyla made her way quickly back toward Erebor. She wondered if anyone suspected her treachery.

Lyla tried to push the thoughts from her mind, tried to ignore the way her stomach rolled uncomfortably as Thorin’s face flashed in her mind.

She could hear the soft cawing of Dain’s crows when she could no longer keep her emotions at bay. 

The thought that she had given away the arkenstone sent her head spinning, send her knees buckling and Lyla stumbled back and slumped to the ground, trying to catch her breath. 

But even though she couldn’t see the gem, her mind replayed her actions, sending shockwaves through her bones. 

The arkenstone was Thorin’s. It was his legacy (or so he claimed) and he would be furious if he knew that she’d given it to him.

‘I can’t betray their trust like that.’

Hadn’t she said those words to the dwarf king only moments before darting into the darkness to betray him?

Her heart hitched and for a moment she doubted this decision. 

Had she really done the right thing? 

Had she really made the right decision?

The same whispering hiss she’d fought to push from her mind began to grow in volume to her ears and she repressed a shudder as she scrambled towards the bushes, ripping the ring from her finger and emptying the contents of her stomach.

She fancied that she heard the soft flapping of wings cutting through the frigid air.

When her heaves subsided Lyla sat gasping, her palms sweaty, and stared at the twinkling starlight and the way the torchlight in Dain’s camps flickered in the distance.  
Her stomach lurched again, but Lyla dragged herself to her feet and continued onward.

Back towards Erebor, and Thorin. 

She only put the ring back on when she was close enough to the camp to be spotted by scouts and not wishing to remain under its power for longer than need be, Lyla hastened her pace and edged towards the main entrance, wary of passing footfalls and the gruff voices of Dain’s dwarves. Dodging the guards who patrolled the front entrance, Lyla slipped inside the mountain’s main hall and slowly and carefully made her way towards the treasure room and the old familiar tunnel that led to the hidden doorway. 

She spotted most of the company still milling about, chatting quietly as they sifted through the endless sea of cold trinkets, still searching for the arkenstone. 

Her heart lurched again as she ducked away into the hidden tunnel and scampered towards the alcove, ripping the ring from her finger and panting softly to catch her breath.  
Steeling her nerves and tossing the cloak from off her shoulders and into the dark corner of the tunnel, Lyla hesitantly made her way back towards the rest of the company.  
She tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but she could feel eyes on her the moment she appeared from behind one of the more hidden corners and back towards the main group. 

Lyla expected the strange stares. It wasn’t like she could hide her dealings for very long. The caravan of elves and men would be here shortly and then all would come to light.  
They would know for certain what she had done and then chaos would descend upon them.

She was certain of that. 

But she hoped, and fervently prayed, that something would reach Thorin’s ears; some small piece of rationality would spark in the dwarf’s mind and he would truly see what was happening. 

Oh Aule, she hoped that this would work.

“Lass?” Bofur’s normally jovial voice held an edge as he approached her, his face contorted into a look of worry, “What’s happened then lass? You look like ye’ve been ill. Are ye alright?”

Lyla had to control her breathing as Bofur gathered her into his arms and gently stroked her hair like an older brother might if they were comforting their sister.

“I’m fine,” She managed to squeak out quietly as she clung to Bofur’s jacket, burying her face deeper into the dwarf’s chest as she inhaled the familiar comforting scent of his jacket, worried that this might be the last time she had a chance to be near him. 

“What has happened lass?” he murmured quietly, “What have ye done?”

She knew something terrible was coming, but she couldn’t speak it to Bofur. 

She wouldn’t. 

“I’m fine.” 

*****  
Thorin stood proudly, the members of his company by his side and his cousin and fellow dwarves in arms down below him as he watched the army of men and elves approach the gate

Quickly casting a glance at the dwarves who stood with his, he noted the grim, thin expression upon Balin’s lips and the way the other stood around him, assessing his reaction to the approaching army. 

Thorin’s eyes drifted towards Lyla and he noted, with some alarm, that the hobbit’s face was ashen and her posture rigid. Her hands were balled into small fists and he wondered why. 

Regret and doubt started to creep into his mind and for a moment the world seemed darker, and he felt unsure. He felt like he didn’t know everything. He felt like perhaps…  
Perhaps he had been wrong?

‘A king is never wrong,’ a familiar low, growling voice murmured in his ear, ‘You judgments are sound. They just doubt you. They fight against you. Show them you are king.’  
The hobbit’s wide, green eyes meet his own and something akin to hope swirled in her orbs as she gazed back, her pale face making the golden curls atop her head stand out in the dim torchlight. And for a moment Thorin cast his doubts aside and marveled at the hobbit and pondered his actions. He had been gruff with her, he had said spiteful things.  
Perhaps…surely she must still know that he cared about her? Even when she was a foolish little creature.

He gave Lyla a tentative, half smile to reassure the hobbit of his regard for her, but no smile graced her lips in return and quickly she averted her gaze, turning back to look outward.

Thorin felt slighted and he frowned at the messy head of curls for a moment, trying to quell his rising anger. 

He was conflicted.

He was angry. 

But at the same time he was appalled that he was angry.

Mahal, nothing made sense anymore.

‘Do not doubt yourself,’ the same voice caressed his ears, tickling at his pride, ‘You are not wrong to doubt her. SHE will betray you. She will leave you. The frailties of her mind will destroy you. Do not let your anger dissipate because of your affection for her.’

Thorin shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. 

Did he really believe that? 

He wasn’t certain who to trust anymore.

His eyes shifted back to the approaching army and he frowned at the large number that marched to his gates, and his eyes narrowed as he spied Thranduil and Bard riding together atop great, dark stallions, their gazes trained on the high wall where Thorin stood. 

‘They will speak lies to you. They only seek what is rightfully yours. You owe them nothing.’

“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,” Bard called up as their battalion came to halt a few meters from Dain’s army, “We come in peace to your gates to discuss a matter of great urgency.”

“What business do an elf, a man and a wizard have with a kingdom of dwarves? And who are you to dictate to me, what is urgent?” Thorin questioned carefully, keeping his voice gruff, “You who claim to come here in the name of peace are well armed. What is it you desire of me?”

“We desire to counsel with you,” Gandalf’s voice carried above the low murmurs of Dain’s men as the grey wizard stepped forward, “There is not a moment to lose on this score, Master Oakenshield. An enemy moves against you. You must prepare.”

‘Liar’ the voice whispered.

“And how am I to trust you, wizard,” Thorin muttered, eyes narrowing, suspicion rising. “You are all far too well armed against us. I suspect you have come for another reason.”

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed, “That is a foolish supposition,” He snapped quickly, “We come here as allies. We come here to defend your mountain and your people against the onslaught of battle.”

“I have nothing but your good word to recommend you,” Thorin returned with a small growl, “Nothing that would alter my opinion. I do not trust the elves,” He spat, sending a glare at Thranduil, who sat unperturbed upon his horse, “They betrayed my father and grandfather. What’s to say they will not betray me as well.”

“They have aided my people in defeating the dragon,” Bard remarked, “Surely you will not slight them for their offered assistance in this regard as well? For you are indebted to us as well.”

‘They are liars. You owe them nothing.’

Thorin’s eye twitched lightly and he frowned, “And what do I owe you?” He snarled lightly, even as his confusion warred with his anger.

“Thorin,” The dwarf turned a sharp eye towards Lyla who had stepped a bit closer, her eyes fixed on him in a firm glare, “You made a promise to help them. You swore that you would assist them. And they are here to help fight a battle on your behalf. They owe you nothing but they are willing to fight.” 

Thorin stared carefully at the hobbit, noting her still ashen face, and her furrowed brow.

‘Betrayer’ the voice hummed.

Thorin narrowed his eyes, “And what would you know of their needs?” He snapped at her, “They might be deceiving you.” He whirled around to face the convoy of men and elves, “You come here to talk of inheritance? Of receiving your rightful share of the treasure?” Thorin narrowed his eyes, “None of what resides in my mountain belongs to you.”  
“Now that is not true!” Bard admonished stepping down from his horse and gazing up at Thorin, his face carefully devoid of emotion, “Much of that treasure comes from the city of Dale. By right that portion belongs to the remnants of those people.”

“I will not discuss this with you! Perhaps if you were not in league with the elves, I might be more accommodating, but I will not assist my enemy.”

“You have no enemies here!” Gandalf remarked in annoyance, “And if you are not careful, your pride will bring about your ruin.”

‘They doubt you.’

“Do not think to lecture me, wizard!” He snapped with wounded pride. He would not let them doubt him or his status, “I am not your follower. I am king.”

“And as such,” Thranduil’s lilting voice carried to Thorin’s ears, making the dwarf cringe, “You should be aware of the threats heading towards your people. If you do not believe us, send out one of your birds to spy in the sky. They will return speaking of our honesty. We do not come here to speak of gold or rights to the treasure. We come here to prepare for battle.”

“How am I to trust you?” Thorin snarled, “You abandoned my people. When the dragon attacked these halls, you looked on and did nothing! How am I to believe your word to be honest?”

Thranduil’s eyes stayed locked on Thorin for a moment before he turned and nodded to Bard.

“Because, Master Oakenshield,” the bowman murmured, taking another step forward, “We have something that you desire greatly.”

Slowly, the man reached into the confines of his coat and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in a tattered cloth. Carefully, the man reached up and untied the dirty material until the grimy cloth slowly slipped away to reveal the contents.

Thorin’s breath hitched and his eyes widened. He had to blink a few times to convince his eyes that was he was seeing was really and truly what he thought it was.

“Is that…?” Dwalin’s voice was soft as he came closer to Thorin and leaned a little over the side of the wall as he tried to get a closer look.

“Aye lad,” Balin muttered quietly, coming to stand on Thorin’s other side.

A low murmur was working through the legion of dwarves as they gazed at the small round stone in Bard’s hand. 

Thorin stood transfixed for a moment, staring into the illuminating, sparkling gem. Even in the dim torchlight, the stone shone brightly, giving on a incandescent hue, its soft color almost appearing to glow in Bard’s hand. 

Suspicions soared and Thorin’s anger rose.

‘Thieves’ the voice murmured, ‘Lying thieves.”

“How did you come by this?” He murmured, softly, his tone dangerously low.

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you are implying,” Bard remarked, affronted by the subtle accusation, “It was given to me.”

Given?

‘Betrayers’

“So you mean to use my own property against me?” Thorin snapped.

“No,” Bard remarked quietly, tucking the arkenstone away and stepping closer to his companions as the dwarves, “We come to earn your trust. This is your heirloom, and I have no desire to keep it.”

“Then return it!” Thorin retorted, his voice rising, “You have no use for it! Earn my trust by giving back what is mine!”

“That cannot happen until after we come to agreement,” Gandalf spoke up, leaning on his staff lightly, his pointed hat hooding his eyes, “This stone must earn your allegiance to fight with us. Only after the battle, and once our affairs are settled will we return this to you.”

Thorin stood rigid and frowned.

What did they mean by this?

“You mean to convince me of your honesty be forcing us to set aside difference to fight against your supposed enemy?”

Bard nodded once but remained silent, watching Thorin carefully.

“It can be no other way,” Gandalf remarked, “We must stand together and fight or we will fall. This is nothing but a barter. It protects all involved in this.”

“And if I refuse?”

Gandalf turned his face upwards and regarded Thorin thoughtfully, “Do you care for this stone? Is it not important to you?” 

Thorin sighed agitatedly, “Of course it is. It is the legacy of my people. It is, by right, mine. You know that.”

“Then what are you willing to do to get it back? Will you set aside your pride and fight with us, or will you lose your mountain and your stone,” Gandalf hesitated for a moment, his eyes shifting around, “To preserve your suspicions and ill will against the elves?”

Thorin was seething. 

He was infuriated. 

How dare that wizard suppose that he could manipulate him! 

Thorin glared darkly at Gandalf and regarded Bard and Thranduil standing silently near the wizard, their eyes fixed on him.

For a moment he entertained the idea of fighting, sending Dain’s troops against the men and elves to retrieve his property. 

But he could see, in the growing light of dawn, that it would be a fool’s errand to contend against such a large number. 

The number of elves and men was nearly doubled Dain’s troops. 

And if they were telling the truth…

Thorin growled, “Fine," his hands balled into fists as he snapped at the wizard, "We’ll do it your way. But know this wizard,” His eyes burned with fury, “You are no friend of the dwarves. Your presence in my halls will never be permitted after this.”

Gandalf nodded his head once, his eyes hard, “Understood.” 

“But who would betray our people?” Dain remarked stepping forward, “No one knew of that stone aside from our people. Who would give such a treasure to you?”

Thorin’s own curiosity and ire were piqued. 

Who would betray them?

‘Betray’

Thorin scanned the company, his eyes darting over each member who stood near him.

‘Betray’

Each face held shocked surprised and trepidation, but no fear.

‘Betray’

No guilt.

‘Betray’

And then his eyes landed once more upon a little hobbit who stood, quietly in Bofur’s shadow, watching Thorin carefully. Her eyes were wide, her brows raised. 

But she didn’t look nervous.

Or guilty.

She looked resigned. Her lips were pulled into a soft pout, her cheeks devoid of color as she stared back, expectantly. 

Waiting.

‘She betrayed you.’

Mahal no. Thorin tried to reject the thought immediately, but Lyla’s eyes reaffirmed his suspicions. She gazed at him, her innocent gaze never shifting from his face as she watched him. 

‘You knew she would hurt you. Destroy you.’

Anger, hot and furious bubbled through his veins as he watched Lyla who stared silently back at him.

She said nothing.

Her eyes said everything.

‘She meant to destroy you. She does not love you.’

She didn’t love him.

Lyla didn’t care.

Thorin clenched his fingers together into a tight fist as his teeth ground against one another.

The hobbit—the Halfling meant to hurt him this whole time.

‘She tried to destroy you. She doubted your reign as king.’

Doubted him? 

Thorin’s eyes narrowed and his breathing sped up, as fury ignited in his heart.

‘She does not love me.’

*****

“YOU!” 

Thorin moved so quickly that Lyla didn’t have time to process what was happening until a vice like grip was around her shoulders and she was being shaken roughly.

“You vile, foul, spiteful little witch!” Thorin roared shaking her harder, “You undersized burglar! You were quick enough to trust the elves and betray me. But my people,” he snarled, his spit landing on her cheek as she stared into the bright blazing eyes of the dwarf king, “You willingly betray my people, betray ME! Why? Why would you do it?” 

“I did not betray you. It was the right thing to do,” Lyla murmured softly, refusing to break eye contact with Thorin, “If you would but listen. Orcs march on the mountain. They will be here. You have to just trust that—“ 

“NO!” Thorin bellowed, “I will not listen to you. You betrayer! You deceiver! You lying little viper.”

Thorin’s eyes traveled to Lylas neck and his gaze narrowed, his cheeks going red in fury. 

“And this!” He grabbed at her neck, tugging at the small leather strap around her neck, “You cannot keep this. You sully my sister’s name by wearing this ring around your neck.”  
With a firm tug, Thorin ripped the necklace with Dis’ ring and Bifur’s flower from Lyla and cast them aside. 

Lyla watched horrified as they clattered and bounced along the stone floor, tumbling into the darkness of the hall.

She turned, hurt and infuriated towards Thorin, “Why?!” She cried, “Why would you do that! I care about you. I did it to help you, not to hurt you. You are not yourself Thorin. The gold has addled your brain, clouded your judgments. Just stop! Stop—“

Suddenly it became difficult to breath as hard fingers closed around her neck and she was lifted from the ground.

Her eyes widened and Thorin turned and dangled her high over the edge of the wall. Panicked, Lyla scratched and clawed at the dwarf’s taut muscles and kicked her legs, trying to gain purchase upon the wall as flashes of another creature grasping her neck flashed through her mind. 

“Do not think to know me, you simpering, little fool. You know nothing of me and nothing of the world. You are a worthless burden.” 

Lyla let out a choked cried as continued to struggle against Thorin’s vice-like grip. “Please,” she squeaked out, “Just put…me down. Please. Let me explain.”

“Shall I cast you down, then, filth?” Thorin growled loudly, “Shall I cast you down to your FRIENDS? You worthless betraying temptress! You are not a friend of the dwarves and have no right to speak to me, to request anything. My judgments are my own, and I will not be chastised by a lying rat like you!” 

Thorin’s eyes flashed again as his grip tightened around her throat and he tried to gasp for air.

“Or perhaps I should just cast you down among the rocks. Spare anyone the misfortune of your company.” 

Lyla stared, wide-eyed back at Thorin, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of the dwarf’s words. 

He would gladly cast her out, down to her death.

And all for a stone.

“Let her down Thorin!” Dwalin’s voice was gruff as he stepped forward, towards his king, eyes narrowed in fury. “Just leave her alone.”

“I WILL NOT!” He roared towards his friend, “You’ve defended her long enough. You’ve protecting the lying, scheming little witch enough!”

Thorin was shaking as he dangled Lyla over the wall.

She was getting dizzy and black spots were starting to dance before her eyes as she kicked her feet and scratched at Thorin’s arm, trying to get him to release her.  
But his grip was like a stone, crushing her neck. 

“Tell me, has she snared you too? Did you assist her in this betrayal?” Thorin’s eyes flashed as he glared at Lyla, “Did you help her steal what is by right mine?”

Lyla twisted her body, and thrust her legs, stretching her foot until it connected with Thorin’s arm. 

With another kick, she connected with the dwarf’s stomach, forcing his grip to loosen enough for Lyla to gasp for air.

With a determined push, she clung onto Thorins arm and pushed her legs outward again until they connected, quite forcefully, with Thorin’s stomach.

With a grunt of pain, the dwarf king’s grip on Lyla’s throat disappeared and she landed with a hard ‘whack’ against the hard, cold stone wall, her palms scraping against the smooth stone as she fought to scramble off the ledge and onto firmer ground.

Rolling to her side, she tumbled from the ledge of the wall and landed with a soft ‘thud’ on her knees, gasping and coughing and trying to convince her shaking limbs to work properly. 

“You,” She gasped, “Are wrong! I would never willingly hurt you. And I asked no one to help me. This is mine doing, and mine alone! You leave them out of this!” she wheezed, trying to swallow, “But…I-I won’t watch you die for a stupid stone! I-you and I…” She swallowed and coughed, “Thorin you have to try to understand I had not choice!”

“You foul demon,” Thorin hissed, rising to his feet, his eyes narrowed and dark, “You are no longer welcome in this hall!” 

He made a step towards Lyla, his hands balling into fists again. 

Lyla rolled and scrambled to her feet, trying to move away from the dwarf.

Arms encircled her shoulders the same time that Dwalin’s launched into Thorin’s form. 

“Let me go!” he snarled trying to twist from Dwalin’s grasp, throwing a punch that connected with the dwarf’s jaw, but the warrior would not release him.

“Lass!” He called, twisting and pulling Thorin’s arm back tightly, making the king snarl in annoyance,“Ye best go.” He gave her a pitying look as Bofur hoisted her to her feet. “Get her out of here!” He shouted, his eyes down cast as he turned away from Lyla, a silent apology murmured on his lips. “GO!” 

“If I ever see you again, you little Halfling, you miserable burden, I will have you killed! Do you hear me!”

Bofur all but dragged Lyla back towards the hall and down the steps leading towards the main entrance as Thorin’s angered cries assaulted her ears. She noted the shocked, gaping faces of the rest of the company. Fili and Kili wore matching expressions of horror as their eyes followed Lyla towards the door and into the darkness of the hall. 

With a grunt she fell out of Bofur’s grip and toppled to the floor a few meters from the entrance. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in short bursts. 

And a painful ache was growing in her chest. 

She started to rise and move back towards the stairs. 

She had to talk to him about this!

“Lass.” Bofur’s grip was firm as he held her, “No.”

“I-I have to!” She muttered, the ache in her chest growing agonizing, “I have to talk to him.”

“He won’t listen lass.” Bofur’s grip never loosened from her as she fought and kicked.

“I have to try Bofur. I have to do something!” 

With a firm shake Bofur whirled Lyla around until he was nose to nose with the hobbit. His eyes were blazing, fury written in his feature as he glared at her. 

“I’ll not let ye do that lass!” he admonished, giving her another firm shake, “It’s a fool’s errand. He’ll try to kill ye again. I’ll not watch that!”

Bofur pulled the struggling hobbit close as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, “Lass. There’s nothin’ ye can do. Except go. I’ll not let him hurt ye again,” the hatted dwarf murmured into her hair, “I’ll not watch you sacrifice yer life for him.”

He pulled back and gazed at the hobbit carefully, his eyes tired and sad, “I’ll not watch ye die at his hand lass.” 

With another tight embrace, Bofur pulled away and pushed Lyla gently towards the doorway. 

“Go,” He murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Lyla started towards the stairs again, but Bofur’s glare sent shivers down her spine.

“GO.” He admonished, slowly backing up the stairs, watching her carefully, “You can do no more here. You must go.”

Lyla stared at her friend, watching his frowning expression, as defeat soared through her veins making her muscles ache and her head pound. 

Slowly, she backed up, feeling along the wall as she watched Bofur’s form disappear up the stairway.

When he was gone, she turned, slowly towards the doorway and, with a choked sob, made her way out of the mountain. 

Her mind was swirling and her steps were unsteady as she passed the last pillar before the doorway.

And then…

A rough, painful form, knocked into her, slamming Lyla against the glittering green stone.

Lyla gazed up in surprise and tears of pain as Dain’s thick arm was pressed against her neck. The silver-haired dwarf glared at her, his teeth bared as he pressed harder against her neck.

“You think that I would let you walk out of here,” he snapped, his coarse hair brushing against her cheek as he leaned closer, “You think that I would willingly let you return to your friends when you’ve betrayed my cousin?”

He pressed harder against her throat, making sure his large boots were firmly planted upon her feet as he held her against the stone.

“He trusted you! And the others lied for you! A woman! And a deceptive temptress,” He spit in her face, “I should have known that you would break him, that you would steal the arkenstone!”

Dain released Lyla suddenly and stepped off her aching feet as she tumbled to floor, panting for breath.

But the dwarf was not done with her. 

With lighting reflexes, he reached down and twisted Lyla’s arm and yanked the hobbit to her feet, covering her mouth before she could cry out in pain. Dragging her backwards, he bypassed the main doorway and, instead, turned towards another stairwell, this one leading down.

Far down into the darkness of the mountain. 

Lyla’s feet knocked against the rough stone steps as she struggled from the dwarf’s firm grip.

At the bottom of the stairway, Lyla was tossed around until she stumbled down on her knees. Dain grabbed her arm again, in his bone crushing grip and thrust her forward, into the dark. 

With a startled cry, Lyla pushed her arms outward and connected with the solid wall of the mountain. 

Her blood ran cold though, when she spun around and tried to push her way back towards the stair way, only to be met by the clattering sound of a door shutting.

“If those elves,” Dain spat the word, “And that wizard friend of your expect to have a fair trade, then it’s high time that the dwarves had a good bargaining chip.”

What?

No.

No!

“You can’t do this! You have to let me out of here!” She cried, into the darkness, as Dain’s footfalls echoed around her, growing fainter.

“You can’t keep me here!” She cried.

But the dwarf would not answer.

Panic bubbled in her chest as she rammed her shoulder against the metal bars of her cell.

“Let me out! You have to let me out!”

But no one was there, in the suffocating darkness, to hear her cries.

She continued to scream until her voice was hoarse, her fear making it hard to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would certainly love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!
> 
> And if you are interested in some lovely authors and their stories, check these wonderful people out: 
> 
> chappysmom: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> kookookarli: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> And 
> 
> luckyhai5: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


	63. Preparing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War and rescue loom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's taken me awhile to get this chapter out to you lovely readers. I've been horribly sick all week long. My dad came to visit a few weeks ago and ended up giving me the flu. I've been miserable and displeased with my writing so it's been an ugly little contentious battle for me. My apologies. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

In the gathering light, the creature surveyed the decimation of dragon fire against, what once was a thriving green forest. With a calculating gaze, he admired the ashen twigs, blackened branches and the tall skeletons of trees standing as a hallmark to the cause of evil. 

It was a welcome sight, Bolg decided, as his eyes drifted towards a white-capped mountain and the gathering grey clouds that surrounded the edifice. 

‘A fitting backdrop for what’s to come’ he thought with a satisfied, snarling smirk as anger burned like a hot iron against his chest. 

The dwarves would pay. 

They would all pay dearly.

“Prepare to march!” He called down to his captain, as his smirk widened.

Today would be a red day.

A day of blood.

*****  
“Let me go!” Thorin growled dangerously, twisting and arching his back, trying to break free from Dwalin’s grasp. 

The warrior, however, remained determined to keep Thorin’s movements to a minimum. Locking his arms together, he effectively pinned the dwarf king to his chest, squeezing tightly whenever Thorin started to thrash too violently. 

“Ye need to calm yerself lad,” Balin remarked quietly, but firmly as he stepped forward. “No sense in getting worked up over something so petty.”

Thorin’s eyes flashed with indignation, “Petty?” he snapped, “You think her thievery was petty?! She betrayed me, or have you forgotten.”

Thorin stilled, his eyes narrowing, “Perhaps you feel that same was as her? Think that…that…Halfling is better suited to rule this mountain than I?”

Even as those words left his mouth, something felt wrong with them. Lyla had done nothing (aside from her recent deception) to indicate that she wanted to rule Erebor or gain power.

She’d never been like that.

‘Ah but she’s deceived you with the arkenstone’ the slithery voice murmured in his ear, ‘what else might she be hiding?’

With a snarl, Thorin kicked one leg backward catching Dwalin in the shin. Arching his back at the same time, the surprised warrior found his grip breaking as Thorin’s forced movements made Dwalin’s body act instinctively against the onslaught of pain. 

Thorin burst from the confines of his friend’s grip and rounded on the warrior dwarf with a cry of indignation, landing a solid punch into Dwalin’s jaw, sending the dwarf stumbling backwards.

But, Dwalin wasn’t easily knocked from his feet. Regaining his footing, the massive, muscled warrior growled and launched himself at Thorin, arms knocking into the king’s chest, sending Thorin tipping.

A swift knock to the cheek and with a flick of his arm, Dwalin managed to pin Thorin’s arm behind his back.

The king rocked his head backwards, snarling indignantly.

“I warned ye,” Dwalin huffed, tightening his grip on Thorin’s arm, “If ye hurt her, I’d not be responsible for my actions.”

“So you’d betray me too,” Thorin remarked tossing his head backwards, connecting with Dwalin’s nose, “You’d give up your duty to this kingdom for a…a hobbit!”

The pressure on Thorin’s arm released suddenly and he whipped around in time to block another blow from the enraged dwarf.

“Have ye forgotten everythin’?” He snapped, sending another blow towards Thorin, this one connecting painfully with the dwarf’s upper arms, “Ye’ve got yer life, yer mountain because of HER! She sacrificed…” Dwalin snarled and leapt forward, fist clenched tightly.

And then Dori was pulling Dwalin back the same time that someone was pulling Thorin away from advancing at Dwalin’s pinned form.

“Aye that’s enough!” Bofur’s voice carried over Thorin’s head and he narrowed his eyes and struggled to get loose from the miner’s grip.

But Bofur was a lot stronger than Thorin had supposed.

“I haven’t betrayed ye,” Dwalin retorted, stilling his struggling as he glared contemptuously at Thorin, “I’ve done nothin’ to be ashamed of. Yer my king and…” Dwalin hesitated, “my friend. Ye know that. But,” And he glared again, “I’ll not let ye hurt that lass. She did what she felt was right and I support her bravery.”

“Yes,” Balin stepped forward a frown perched upon his lips as he gazed between his brother and his king, “But this is hardly the time to deal with such issues.” He fixed his gaze on Thorin, “We must look to validate if the claims of the elves and men are true. If war is coming, Thorin, we must be ready.”

“There is no need,” Dain’s soft voice echoed from the doorway.

Thorin twisted his head around and gazed at his cousin who was watching him carefully, his eyes calculating and cold as his gaze flicked towards Bofur.

“I’ve already sent some of my fliers out,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his chest, “They’ve only just returned and validate your ‘allies’ and their story.”  
Strangely, Thorin noted, Dain didn’t seem too pleased with that assessment.

“Now master dwarf,” Dain regarded Bofur with narrowed eyes, “You must release your king. It is treason to treat him in such a manner and if you claim to follow his rule then I suggest you unhand him.”

The dwarf’s tone brooked no argument and Thorin could see the way his jaw was clenched as he watched Bofur carefully, his hand slipping slowly towards his sword should the miner attempt anything.

Very slowly, Bofur’s grip loosened on Thorin and the dwarf king stood to full height and gave the hatted dwarf a measured glare and he turned to face his cousin fully.  
“Did you see the hobbit?” he questioned, his thoughts warring between contempt and curiosity at the thought of Lyla Baggins.

Dain’s gaze remained completely neutral as he gazed back at Thorin, a soft frown pulling at his lips.

“I did not,” he murmured, “The creature must have slipped out some other way, but that is hardly an important detail at the moment. We must prepare for battle, Thorin. We must protect your mountain.

Thorin’s mind was conflicted. 

Something felt wrong. So utterly wrong. But a wall of bitterness and betrayal assuaged his contemplations. 

He was justified in his fury. 

He never should have trusted her. 

‘She was always going to betray you. They doubted you. They doubted this quest.’

A new burst of anger and adrenaline pounded in Thorin’s ears.

He fixed a firm look around the walkway, regarding each dwarf from the company.

“So be it,” he remarked, “What’s done is done then. If you are with me and the cause to defend the mountain, then to arms. We prepare for war.” 

Unbidden, the hobbit’s delicate face swam before Thorin’s eyes and a longing and a guilt filled him as he remembered the pained expression she’d given him, the deep-seeded sadness that pooled in her eyes. 

But the knowledge of her betrayal send his heart thumping wildly in his chest and he fought to control the dueling parts of himself.

He wanted to forgive Lyla as much as he wanted to throttle her.

Shaking his head, the dwarf king led the way towards the armory.

He needed to forget her. 

‘she betrayed you…’

He needed to forget her completely.

Thorin frowned as he approached the wall lined with shields, armor and weapons of every assortment.

He needed to forget Lyla Baggins and fight a war. 

*****  
Something was wrong. 

Gandalf could feel it in the air. 

Even as the horns of the enemy started to echo in the distance and the black mass of orc and goblin armies approached, something else bothered him.

He gazed at the gate to Erebor thoughtfully, searching for signs of a small, golden-haired hobbit amongst the bulky dwarves of Dain’s camp. 

He could spy no such creature and a fear gnawed at him. 

All who were below bore witness to Thorin’s fury.

An iron-hot anger and contempt swelled in Gandalf’s heart at the memory of the defenseless hobbit dangling over the wall, struggling to get away from the enraged dwarf king. 

And that hobbit had been cast down, told that she would be killed.

But no hobbit had come out of the gates. 

“Mithrandir.”

Gandalf’s gave a small nod towards Legolas, but his eyes never strayed from the mountain and the milling dwarves as they began assembling for the impending battle, their movements rushed and forceful. 

“You’ve noticed too,” He murmured to the elf prince, eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” Legolas remarked lowly, “And it troubles me. We must do something.”

Gandalf sighed and turned back towards the mountain, his brows furrowed with worry. “I fear that this task might prove more difficult than we’d hope. And with guards watching over the mountain, when we march, they will suspect something amiss should we try to send someone back through the gates. 

“This I know,” Legolas remarked with a small smile as he pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. “But it would appear that the company suspects something awry as well. They’ve sent three of their own to investigate the mountain for clues. And Balin has requested that someone might be sent up to act as a liaison to convey battle strategies to Thorin.”

Gandalf smiled fondly, “Did they indeed?” He remarked cheerfully, new thoughts springing forth in his mind, “Well then! You and I must be off then, yes? Your father knows of this little…deviation…does he not?”

Legolas’ smile grew as well, even as the black clouds rolled overhead, covering the sun and casting the troops into shadow, while the horns of the enemy began to grow louder.

“Of course,” the elf prince remarked, with a small smirk, “He knows precisely where I am to be.” 

*****  
Balin had been suspicious from the beginning. 

He supposed this suspicion had grown from years of wandering and dealing with less than savory characters. 

But this was different. 

By all accounts, Dain’s behavior was nothing for concern. He was considerate to Thorin’s needs and assisted in any manner required of him.

Currently they were sorting through what they could access of the weaponry, dressing for the impending battle and cataloguing their supplies and listening for the drums of war to sound.

But, his suspicion and wariness of the hobbit made Balin wary of Dain’s true motivations.

The Dain he knew was never suspicious of creatures (mostly). He was very much the diplomat, conscientious of the customs and traditions of other races, this characteristic born of his years delegating negotiations throughout the various regions of Middle Earth. 

But one look at Lyla had sent the dwarf’s eyes narrowing, calculating and a frown working on his lips. Dain had watched the hobbit carefully, assessing her every move. 

This notion was so unlike Dain that it made both Dwalin and Balin alert and suspicious. 

It was the reason why they determined to keep Lyla’s gender a secret (or as secret as they could) until they could understand Dain’s motivations for his suspicions against the hobbit. 

But it was Bofur who truly sealed Balin’s mistrust in Dain Ironfoot.

“He cannot be tellin’ the truth,” the miner hurriedly whispered, casting a glance to Thorin and Dain, “I saw her to the door. She was there, for Mahal sake! Even if she did take another route, he’d have at least seen her.”

Yes, Balin had suspected that. As he had watched Dain these few hours after the whole ordeal, he noted how intensely calm and cold the dwarf appeared when Thorin mentioned the hobbit. 

If Dain had suspected Lyla of any wrongdoing (especially considering the arkenstone issue) he most certainly would have acted to protect Thorin in that regard. 

And yet, after all the suspicions and the thoughtful glances at the hobbit, when asked if he had seen the fleeing creature, he’d stared, completely unconcerned by the whole affair.  
It didn’t make sense.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully at Dain and he wondered what ploy the dwarf was working.

And what is had to do with their hobbit.

“Aye I’ll wring his neck,” Dwalin seethed quietly, his fists clenching, “If he’s hurt her, I’ll—“

“We can’t do anything,” Balin interjected, adjusting his mithril shirt under his tunic with a frown. When had he gotten shorter? “We must prepare for battle. We can’t attack one of our own. It will set the whole army in an uproar. We have to remain united for now.”

Dwalin flashed his brother a contemptuous look, “So we leave the lass to fend fer herself? We don’t even know where she might be, but I’m certain she’s not with that wizard and the elves. She’s in some sorta trouble. Ye’ll just leave her?” He questioned incredulously, “That’s a foolish notion if ever I heard one.”

Balin gave a small, pitiable smile, “That is not what I said,” He remarked quietly. “I’ve already sent a missive to Gandalf, but I’ve a plan. One that, hopefully won’t gain Dain’s notice.”

Bofur quirked his head to the side, as he adjusted his grip on his mattock, “Well then, what’ve ye got for us? What’s goin’ to make Dain less suspicious?”

Balin smiled a bit wider this time, his eyes sparkling, “Ori.”

The shy, sweater-clad dwarf perked up when he heard his name and turned, with a questioning eye, towards Balin and the others as the drums and horns from the orc ranks grew louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes. I'm sorry it's a little shorter. I'm nearly done with another chapter as we speak, but I wanted to get something out for you while I finish that one up. Expect it VERY soon.
> 
> And as always comments are appreciated. 
> 
> AND, if you are interested in other stories to read, check out these amazing authors:
> 
> chappysmom: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> kookookarli: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> and luckyhai5: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


	64. Battles for Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins...
> 
> Music for this chapter: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/lt5V844FPTY  
> http://youtu.be/LqI78S14Wgg  
> http://youtu.be/6-lGuNin1VE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this has taken to get out to you. I know I said it wouldn't take as long, but I was quite literally confined to bed for most of the past week. I've been so sick. Ugh. It's been terrible. 
> 
> But! The chapter is finished. It's nice and lengthy and--hopefully--worth the small wait. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Balin, a dwarf that was highly admired and revered for his wisdom and sound judgment, believed that HE, Ori, could complete this task.

It didn’t make much sense to Ori.

Ori the quiet, shy scribe who was more adept at chronicling great battles, rather than participating in them, was tasked with using stealth. 

“Ye are the only one Laddie,” Balin remarked with a smile, “Ye are the one who will be the least suspected.”

The wise dwarf had convinced their king that it would be a prudent idea to leave a small garrison behind in order to protect the mountain itself should anyone attempt to make a run for the dwarves’ home. 

Thorin hadn’t been pleased at first, but his trust of Balin (despite the king’s obvious mental struggle) was still too great for him t give up. He finally conceded.

Hence the reason why Ori had stayed behind with his two brothers, a few elf archers (including Legolas) and a dozen guardsmen under the direction of Dain Ironfoot who to oversee the organization of the unit before he, too, headed out to meet Thorin on the battlefield.

And yet, somehow, despite Balin’s reassuring remarks and smiles, Ori did not believe that he was the perfect candidate for this most auspicious mission.

Even with his brothers by his side, he felt exposed, underhanded and terribly, terribly unsure of himself. Why Balin trusted him completely confused the poor creature.

But if it would help Mistress Baggins, then, Mahal willing, he was willing to try.

The sweater-clad dwarf gazed around the treasure room warily, noting some of Dain’s guards eyeing him carefully, as they patrolled nearest the hall that lead to the gate. 

But, herein, Ori found an advantage. With his unassuming nature and his status as a scribe and an appearance that dictated him to be far below ‘warrior’ status (even if he was good with a slingshot and war hammer), the few guards milling about had no reason to really treat his presence as threatening. 

Their immediate attention was, instead, drawn to the piles of gold which made his plan a bit easier to enforce. 

Distraction was a key component to success. 

Dain’s attention, however, proved to be far more difficult to distract. Having been assigned to remain behind long enough to delegate assignments before joining Thorin, Dain’s eyes were firmly trained on following Ori’s every move. The dwarf didn’t seem to trust anyone within the company because of their association with the hobbit and Ori suspected that THIS was the other reason that Dain had elected to stay behind for a time. He wanted to calculate the threat that he possessed to…whatever it was Dain had done.

Which was why Dori and Nori had agreed (insisted rather) to stay behind and look after their brother. 

They didn’t trust Dain Ironfoot.

‘I’m not leavin’ you alone with him,’ Nori had muttered, giving his younger brother a hard glare, ‘You’re daft if you think I would.’ 

Ori wasn’t, in fact, daft. He understood that once his brothers had it in their mind that they would do something, then they’d do it. 

And since Ori was forced to interact with the dwarf (much to his chagrin) he needed this boost of reassurance from his brothers. 

Not that he’d actually tell them that. 

He WAS glad they were there, however. Especially if he was to act his part, say his lines, and convince Dain of his trustworthiness…

Swallowing down his fears, he slowly approached the battle-ready Dain hesitantly, forcing himself to appear smaller, more frail. 

He had to act…even if he was actually quite nervous.

“What is it you might need?” Dain remarked not bothering with niceties. His eyes were hard, calculating, his arms folded tightly against his chest as he peered down at Ori.

The sweatered dwarf swallowed hard, resisting the urge to fist his hands into the hem of his clothing (something he did when he was nervous).

“I-uh I was hoping that perhaps you might know where the l-library is?” He questioned quietly, thinking of Lyla Baggins as he played his part.

He wanted to do something to help her.

Dain stared at Ori perplexed, his eyes widening slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“The Library?” He echoed, his voice rough, confused, “Why would you seek out the library.”

The suspicious glare returned quickly and Dain’s jaw clenched tightly.

“WHY?” He demanded.

‘Now’s your time to act the part’ Ori reminded himself, trying to strengthen his nerves.

He thought of the hobbit.

“Because, Master Dain,” Ori remarked, determination pulsing through his veins, “I was hoping that I-uh could look for some maps. See if there are any weaknesses in the mountain that we should know about in case…”

He trailed off giving Dain a pointed look. 

“I’m not much of a-uh-warrior,” his brothers snorted for good measure at that comment. “And I-I wanted to help somehow. The mountain is important to me.”

He met Dain’s assessing gaze and held his stare, not daring to blink for fear that the dwarf would suspect something amiss. 

“And the two behind you?” Dain questioned, eyes shifting to Dori and Nori.

Ori peeked back and noted the matching frowns and rigid postures of his brothers as they glared back at Dain.

Ori could feel the heat rising on his cheeks as he turned back towards Dain Ironfoot. 

“They’re my…brothers…” He remarked slowly, embarrassed, “They, uh, don’t really let me go much of anywhere by myself.”

“That’s certainly true,” Dori remarked, “He’d bash his own head against the rocks, he’s so clumsy.”

Dain gave an exasperated sigh but his mouth quirking into a small smirk.

“It has been many many years since I’ve wandered through these halls,” He commented, his eyes flicking upwards. “I do not know if I can accurately remember where the library was located. And that dragon may very well have destroyed what you seek.”

Ori nodded slowly, “Yes I understand, though it could not do harm to attempt to look, yes?”

Dain hesitated for a moment, searching Ori’s face.

“I believe,” He finally conceded, seemingly satisfied with what he spied in Ori’s features, “if you were to go to the second level, you’ll find a long hall leading towards the library in the East wing.” 

He shot a wary glance back at Nori and Dori (and Ori resisted the urge to turn to observe his brothers) before nodding his head once.

“Off with you then,” Dain snapped, “And be quick to return. You have duties to fulfill down here as well.”

Ori was quick to give a small bow before hastening to the staircase and upward, his brothers following right behind.

With a quick glance to his left, he caught Legolas’ eyes as the elf stood in the far corner, nearest to the hall leading towards the gate.

The elf gave a quick nod before stepping from the shadows, his gait purposeful and precise. 

Straight towards Dain.

*****

Thorin marched proudly, his grip tightly wound around the hilt of his sword as the dwarves, elves and men aligned together and began their advance on the enemy. 

The enemy, Thorin noted, that comprised of the promised orcs and goblins that Gandalf mentioned. 

‘They will march straight at you, Thorin,’ the wizard had remarked during their initial conference to plot strategies, ‘Their movements pinpoint them near Dale’s ruins. They are  
heading straight for the mountain.’

Thorin had to concede, now, that he had been wrong to judge the elves and men so harshly. 

They were aligned to help his people maintain their foothold in the mountain.

However, he didn’t completely trust them. 

Being in Thranduil’s presence brought back the same fury he felt when his people had been abandoned when Smaug first attacked.

The same fury he felt when Ly-

When the hobbit had betrayed him.

And Thorin was not a fool. And he would not be taken for one again. He would be wary of these allies of his until the last orc and goblin fell. 

And then, he was certain, he would discover their true nature. 

‘And their lust for gold’ the voice murmured lowly in his ear, ‘You know they only care for the treasure. They will rob your people. You must not trust them.’

The same heated ire pulsed in Thorin’s veins as he tried, desperately to remain composed and calm. 

He couldn’t attack his would-be allies, when war loomed over the ridge.

He needed to remain tactful.

And patient.

To his left stood Gandalf, staff at the ready, eyes trained ahead, assessing the movements of the enemy as their blackened silhouettes grew larger, the darkening clouds in the sky illuminating the sheer number of the enemy’s troops. 

On his other side stood Thranduil and his sister-sons. Kili’s jaw was taut, his eyes narrowed as he gazed out at orcs and goblins marching ever closer, their horn calls growing in volume with each step.

Fili had his eyes trained on his brother, his brow furrowed in concern. 

He was worried for his brother.

Thorin acknowledged that Fili and Kili were still too young to be this actively engaged in warfare. They were still very much children, according to dwarf standards. And it pained him somewhat, to see their willing and determined faces amongst the ranks.

He only ever wanted to keep them safe.

But he knew of their stubborn, willful nature and no matter what he commanded, they’d simply do as they pleased.

‘We will not leave you’ Fili remarked in a tone that reminded him so much of Dis that a sad smile had crept to his face. 

At the top of a small rise, Thorin stopped, as predetermined by their stratagem, and gazed out at the large number of orcs and goblins.

One in particular caught his eye. 

This creature, an orc by the look of him, towered above his companions. Covered in thick metal armor and scraggly red hair, the orc carried a large serrated axe his hand, his head raised high and proud as he marched ahead of the rest of his group, eyes firmly fixed on Thorin. With large metal plates covering his head (probably the remnants of a helmet) and jagged scars running down his cheeks and severing his lips, creating a jagged snarling gape, the orc narrowed his beady blue eyes at the company of dwarves. 

The spark of familiarity ignited in his mind and Thorin gazed, somewhat stunned at an orc that should have died during the battle for Moria.

He’d seen him fall once before.

Much like his father had. 

“Dwalin,” Thorin murmured, never letting his eyes stray from the enormous orc. “Do you recognize that creature.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the way Dwalin stiffened and the way his hands tightened around his war hammer.

“Aye, lad,” He muttered lowly, “I certainly do.”

Bolg son of Azog stood as leader of the orc and goblin army, prepared to cut down the dwarves and their allies.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” the beast snarled, his voice low and guttural, the Westron spilling from his mouth sounding foreign and terrifying, “You have a debt to pay. My father died by your hand,” The giant orc raised a large curved sword and pointed it towards Thorin, “And I will see you fall this day as repayment.”

“I suppose that would rule out any talks of peace,” Thranduil muttered drily earning a chuckle from Balin.

“Archers to the ready,” He called quietly to his people.

“Prepare to attack,” Thorin called, pulling out his sword, adjusting his fingers carefully over the hilt as he glared back at Bolg who raised his sword in one hand, and a jagged rounded metal club in the other.

A bellowing cry erupted as the orcs and goblins charged forward, their shrieks deafening Thorin.

Through the din, though, Thorin could also hear hear a foreign Elvish cry escape Thranduil’s lips as arrows began to sail through the air, embedding into the unarmored flesh of some of the advancing line.

“Du Bekar!” Thorin shouted to his companions, raising his own sword upwards as he pushed the memories of Moria down into the darker recesses of his soul and watched the advancing enemy edge ever closer, despite the rain of arrows upon them. 

With a low cry of his own, he charged forward, the sounds of battle ringing in his ears, knowing that his comrades would follow him.

*****

Lyla was a typical hobbit lass. 

She knew that.

She knew she was nothing extraordinary. 

And she knew, that as a typical hobbit, the dark was a very frightening place. 

With her throat aching, her shoulder throbbing, she had given up on trying to ram against the bars and slumped to the floor of the cell. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been there. Hours perhaps? And no matter how loud she screamed, no one had acknowledge they’d heard her. 

Tucking her knees close, she wrapped her arms around her legs and tried to will her heart to stop pounding so painfully against her chest.

The tears, however, she did not try to stop.

It would have been a futile effort. Especially when images of Thorin’s stunned, horrified face replayed in her mind, cracking her resolve with each painful ‘thump’ of her heart. 

He would never forgive her.

She would remain down here, in the dark, abandoned until it was time for Dain to barter her safety for the arkenstone. 

She’d become nothing more than a pawn to the dwarves. And she wondered, if, perhaps, the compand COULD hear her but were ignoring her cries.

“No,” she whispered, trying to reassure herself, “The company cares. They understand. They will come.”

Her voice felt small, weak in the darkness. 

Doubt swirled, about her, black and consuming.

Suffocating.

No.

She had to think that someone cared. 

She had to keep the negative thoughts at bay. 

‘Why?’ 

She cringed at the hissing voice, and squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the soft drip of water somewhere far off in the darkness. 

‘Why would you care about them? Why would they care about YOU?’

“Stop.” She muttered aloud, “Leave me be.”

That same hissing voice chuckled, ‘You fear the truth. They never cared for you. They cast you aside for treasure. All of them. Once you fulfilled your purpose, they had no more need for you.’

“That’s not true,” She murmured, her voice still scratchy, “They care about me.”

Right?

The memory of the company’s distracted faces as they sifted through the mountains of gold, too consumed with glittering objects to concern themselves with little else, rose in her mind and she cringed. 

‘See, they did not care for you. And when Thorin cast you down, they sent you away. Told you to leave.’

“No.” Lyla remarked pushing herself to her feet, her anger rising at the voice that haunted her, “They protected me. They care.”

‘But they will not search for you. They do not care for you as much as you think.’

“Stop.” Lyla growled lowly, grasping onto the bars of the cell, “Leave me be.”

‘Afraid of the darkness.’ The voice hissed delightedly, ‘And afraid of the truth.’

“LEAVE ME BE!” She shouted, covering her ears, the pain of the thoughts that were coursing through her head, making her heart ache painfully.

‘Foolish creature…’ 

The laughter echoed around her, as the soft sounds of drums began to filter into the air, making her pause. 

Her eyes widened and her heart started to pound with renewed force, the blood pumped furiously in her ears.

No.

So soon?

How long had she been down here?

Thorin’s face flashed, unbidden, in her mind, his snarling frown contorting into pain as he headed into the battlefield her imagination concocted.

She watched him fall.

She watched them all fall.

Fili and Kili.

Dwalin and Balin.

Bofur.

Bombur, Bifur.

Dori, Nori, Ori.

Oin and Gloin.

Gandalf and Legolas and even Thranduil.

No!

‘Stop thinking that way Lyla,’ She chided herself.

Fisting her hands into her hair, Lyla cringed and bowed her head, trying to block the thoughts, trying to stop the shudders of anguish.

‘Afraid to be left alone’ the voice murmured softly, sinisterly, ‘They will all die and you will rot down here forgotten. Forever alone in the darkness.’

“I don’t care,” She murmured, well aware that the voice was in her mind, “I don’t care if he hates me forever. I don’t care if they cast me back down in this prison. I care about them!’

‘But they don’t care about you. They will fall and you will rot here, unable to save them.’

“NO!”

With renewed force and determination, Lyla rammed her shoulder against the metal bars of her cell. 

She had to do something.

She couldn’t let them go to battle alone. 

Even if they didn’t want her. 

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing you stupid creature!”

Lyla’s movements halted suddenly at the new voice. 

One she did not recognize.

“Hello!” She called, her heart fluttering in hope, “Help me! I’m trapped down here!”

Soft torchlight filtered into the room and Lyla stared into the face of a rather tall dwarf, his red beard braided tightly together. He was clad in heavy armor with a rather impressive battleaxe slung across his back.

He was grinning at her, eyes glinting.

“Why would I do that?” He sneered stepping closer, “I was sent here by Master Ironfoot to watch after you. You’re not to do anything stupid. Talking to yourself, l imagine, qualifies  
as a stupid act.” He glared, “It seems that your companions have a plan in the works to locate you,” He snorted, “But I’m afraid that won’t happen. I’m here to make sure of that. So shut your mouth and make this easier on us both would ya?”

Lyla gaped at the dwarf who backed up away from the cell, watching Lyla carefully, his furrowed brow and frown illuminated by the torchlight.

The hissing laughter still echoed in her ear.

The drums and horns still grew in intensity, signaling that the enemy was close.

But hope ignited with a fiercely bright intensity in Lyla’s chest.

“They are searching for me?” She murmured carefully, “The company is searching for me?”

“Not that it really matters,” the dwarf before her snorted, “Even if they did make it down here, I’m commanded to take any measures to stop your freedom.”

A smile graced Lyla’s features at the thought, her doubts dwindling marginally, allowing for a wellspring of hopeful ones to take root.

They did care.

Her companions cared about her. 

They were searching for her. 

Lyla’s eyes narrowed and she sent a glare at the dwarf, the thought of him harming her friends, sending a shiver of fury down her spine.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, ramming her shoulder into the metal bars again, “An absolutely dense imbecile.”

Again she shoved her weight against the metal bars, listening to the loud, clattering sound they made.

“I beg your pardon.” The dwarf grunted at the hobbit in the cell, “How can I be the idiot? You’re the stupid creature who stole the arkenstone and betrayed the king.” 

Lyla smirked and rammed again at the metal bars, wishing for all the world that she wasn’t here, in this cell about to do what she planned.

But she had no choice, she supposed. 

“Yes, that may be true,” she remarked, allowing her Tookish mouth to take over, “But I wasn’t the one stupid enough to lose the stone in the first place. Thror must have been just as careless as his son is.”

Lyla inwardly cringed and sent her apologies to both Thror and Thorin, guilt gnawing at her for the filth coming from her mouth.

But it would serve a purpose.

It would hopefully get her out of here. 

‘Sorry mother’ she thought a bit chagrinned at her plan ‘My manners are going to be deplorable. Apologies in advance.’

The red-haired dwarf spluttered and growled at her, huffing in indignation, “You dare to insult the king?!” He remarked, his face taking on a rather splendid shade of red.

‘Yes, wonderful’ Lyla thought, trying to force her doubts and worries aside for the moment. 

She needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

Another adrenaline-filled push against the metal bars sent clattering noises echoing around the room.

“Of course I dare to insult the king,” She snapped, “He’s an idiot. Couldn’t even find a stupid gem in a sea of gold! He needed a hobbit,” Lyla remarked flippantly kicking at the bars, “to rescue his mountain from a dragon. He couldn’t do it on his own.”

The dwarf before her snarled and took a step forward, closer to the cell.

“You little witch,” He growled, “You will be silent!”

Another push against the metal.

‘You are a fool’ the hissing growl muttered in her head, ‘You won’t succeed.’

“Why?” Lyla retorted carelessly, raising her voice higher, to drown out the doubts, letting her anger seep into every pore of her being, “Why should I care anymore? He cast me off. HE doesn’t care. Why should I respect him after all that nonesense? He’s an idiot. An idiot who breaks promises. And you…” Lyla grinned, “you’re just as useless as he is. Why did they send you down here to guard a defenseless hobbit, hm? Especially with war waging out above us.” Lyla chuckled, “Dain must have thought you too incapable to handle a more difficult task.”

She winked at the sputtering dwarf.

Inside, though, she felt an immense amount of guilt at her actions. 

But it was working…

Even if she did sound more like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins than herself.

‘Sacrifices, Lyla. Sacrifices. Just a bit more. That’s all.’

“You’re prowess with a sword is only good enough to contend against a hobbit in a cage? Ha! Can’t even stand up to an orc or a goblin. Even I’ve done that much. And I’m rubbish with a sword.”

“BE SILENT!” 

The torch went clattering to the floor as the dwarf made to advance on Lyla who only grinned and rammed her shoulder against the metal bars again, the noise bouncing off the walls.

She prayed this would work.

“Oh you are a witless worm if you think that I will even begin to consider following your orders. You orc faced, foul smelling dog. Pitiful excuse for a warrior. Is it all for show then? You mean to simply hand over the mountain with your ineptitude.”

The dwarf had her by the fabric of her tunic in the blink of an eye, her feet dangling from then ground as he snapped and snarled in her face.

Lyla frowned at the familiar position she found herself in, feet dangling above the ground.

But, it was what she’d hoped for, in all her Tookish ponderings. 

“You will be silent,” the dwarf snarled, his spit flying to her face.

Lyla pretended to cough as she kicked her feet, gaining traction against the bars.

“My goodness, have you ever considered doing something about that breath? It smells positively putrid! Did something die inside that cavernous mouth of yours?”  
Her feet found a perch along the bars and Lyla’s eyes narrowed.

Grabbing a firm hold of the dwarf’s large, muscled arm, Lyla yanked herself backwards, straightening her legs until she was standing parallel to the floor. 

And the force of her pull did what she’d hoped.

With a quick, deafening ‘clang’ the dwarf’s scruffy, bearded face connected with the metal bars. The dwarf’s grip loosened immediately and Lyla let go of her grip on the his arm, tumbling to the ground the same time he did. 

But she scrambled quickly to her feet and reached through the bars searching for something that would help her pick the lock on the door before the dwarf was roused from his slumber. 

Anything.

“Mistress Baggins!”

Lyla bolted upright and scrambled to her feet, her face breaking out in a smile.

“Nori!” She exclaimed, “Dori. Ori! Oh thank Aule.”

She gazed at their frowning faces as they assessed the situation before them.

And for a moment the doubts returned.

“Please tell me you’re here to help me,” She murmured lowly, warily.

Nori stepped forward carefully, his hand going to his hair of all places. 

“Of course we’re here to help, you silly creature,” He chided pulling a long, sharp pin from one of his braids, “Why wouldn’t we help you?”

Dori was the next to step forward, shooting Lyla a grim smile, “Just wish we’d have gotten here sooner. Seems like you’ve done a fair good job of helping yourself,” He glared down at the dwarf, “Though, like I said before, you’re far too kind to the undeserving. I’d have at least broken a few bones.”

He gave a swift kick at the unconscious dwarf’s ribs for good measure. 

“We-we were sent by Balin to find you,” Ori remarked, “He was hoping that I wouldn’t attract as much attention.”

He gave Lyla a small smile.

“Yes,” Dori replied with a grin, “Ori insisted that he was hired to catalogue the damages done to the mountain as well as act like an emergency guard against any enemies who  
might pursue entrance into our kingdom.” He snorted, “No one ever suspects that Ori to be as skilled a fighter as he is.”

“Though I think Dain may still suspect something,” Nori murmured, his attention the locked door.

“It was a marvelous idea to make so much noise,” He murmured, his face going pink as he tried desperately to ignore his brother’s praise, “When we spotted the guards from upstairs, where Dain had situated them, we knew that you’d be down here. And those maps certainly helped, but your noise made it easier to find you.”

“That’s certainly true,” Nori mumbled, his attention riveted to the locked door, fingers working wit practiced precision on the offending lock, “Though it WAS a surprise to hear your insults.”

He shot a lopsided grin Lyla’s way.

“Refreshing really,” he muttered and winked before turning back towards the door.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Bofur,” Dori remarked with a sniff, throwing his head back, but not before he shot Lyla a grin of his own. “But we’ll talk of your atrocious manners later. We need to get out and away from all of…this.” He gestured around, looking remorseful for the situation Lyla had found herself in. “Get you to Gandalf if we can.”

Nori gave a satisfied grunt as he rose to his feet and swung the door open, pulling the hobbit from the confines of the darkened cell and into a hug. 

But a low growl and a swift kick sent the thief and the burglar hobbit tumbling as the once unconscious dwarf rolled to his feet, a deadly glare of his face. 

“You!” He thundered shoving Dori and Ori out of the way and reaching for Lyla, “You horrid little wench! I’m going to kill you, you insolent little demon.” 

The dwarf tore Nori back, tossing the thief to the side as he pounced on Lyla who was desperately trying to scrambled backwards in surprise. 

Her head connected with the hard, cool metal of the cell as the dwarf wrenched her arms painfully, twisting her wrist until she let out a startled, pained cry.

But fury burned within her at this treatment. 

She was sick of dwarves and their foolish tempers. 

She was sick of being tossed around. 

Using her strongest weapon, Lyla attacked the dwarf. With a firm kick of her feet, she landed a blow to his stomach, forcing the dwarf to hunch over and grab and wrap his arms around himself. Lyla brought her knee up and connected with the dwarf’s chin, cursing the hardness of the blow against her shin and pain lanced her leg. 

No wonder he’d only been unconscious for a short time.

A hard knock to Lyla’s chest, sent the hobbit gasping for air and stopping her movements, as the dwarf fisted her tunic in his massive hand.

With a satisfied grunt, the dwarf lifted Lyla to her feet and tossed the temporarily stunned hobbit back into the cell before turning towards the three brothers who were stumbling to their feet, identical glares upon their faces.

“You three,” The red-haired dwarf seethed, “Will pay for your interference. I’ve been given strict orders to cut anyone down who tries to free that filth.” 

He pulled for his battleaxe as Dori and Nori produced their knives and sword and Ori pulled out his slingshot.

The red-haired dwarf laughed at Ori’s smaller weapon.

Until a delicately placed rock connected with the dwarf’s eye, making him howl in pain.

Lyla shot a smirk at the sweater-clad dwarf, who grinned back triumphantly.

Dori, launched himself at the dwarf, a furious cry escaping his lips as a firmly placed fist connect with the dwarf’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards, knocking into the cell wall.  
Nori, skirted around the scuffle and maneuvered toward Lyla, pulling the hobbit out of the doors again and towards the entrance.

“Go,” he whispered to her as his brothers let out identical angered cries, shoving the red haired dwarf hard against the metal bars, kicking the abandoned torch until its flames hissed and dimmed.

“That elf, Legolas is waiting for you at the top. We’ll take care of this guard.”

“But—“ Lyla started to protest, “I can’t just leave—“

“Yes,” Nori insisted, giving her a firm shove, “You can. We’re quite capable. Now go. Legolas will take you to safety.”

Lyla made to protest again, but a hard shove and a firm glare were all she received from Nori as a reply.

“GO. We’ll be up shortly. Don’t you worry. GO,” He ordered, turning back towards his brothers whose harassing taunts and quick fists and shots were confusing and annoying Dain’s assigned guard.

Lyla cast one last glance at the three dwarves as Nori as Ori slipped her a small smile, and then she bolted upwards, out of the darkness and to the surface.

She ran nearly headlong into Legolas.

“Mistress Baggins,” the elf’s soft tones filled her ears, as two arms encircled her shoulders, “It is most fortunate to see your face again.”

Lyla was distracted by the booming drums and the cries coming from outside the gates to answer. 

A nervous knot of dread coiled in her stomach. 

She noted how there were no dwarves within the mountain, unlike what Ori had mentioned. 

She cast a glance at Legolas whose own eyes were hooded, even as he smiled down at her. 

“I must take you to a safer location,” he murmured, releasing his grip on the hobbit and stepping back, “Gandalf wants you away from the approaching battle and we haven’t much time to lose on that score. It approaches quickly and I’m almost certain that Dain Ironfoot knows of our plan. He will not be distracted for long.”

“Where…?”

“Out,” Legolas remarked, “Out with the rest of the guards. The enemy is moving far faster than we suspected and I merely suggested that Master Oakenshield was looking for his cousin.”

“And he believed that?” Lyla was incredulous

Legolas only nodded, “Though I suspect he’s far more suspicious than accommodating of my suggestions. He’ll be back,” He murmured and cast a glance behind Lyla listening carefully for…something… “Come. We must make haste.”

“And where is he?” She questioned, her gaze locked on hall, leading towards the main gate, “Where is Gandalf that he cannot request this of me himself?”

She knew the answer but the look on Legolas’ face only confirmed her suspicions. 

Lyla frowned.

“No.”

The elf didn’t look surprised when the word slipped from the hobbit’s mouth, but he kept a firm hold on her arm, trying to lead her towards the main portion of the treasure room.  
Towards the hidden doorway.

“You cannot stay here,” He remarked, with a resigned sigh, “I know what it is you desire, but is it really worth it? You would risk death, by both friend and foe? I will not allow it.”

Lyla glared at the elf, knowing that he spoke the truth but unable to convince herself that what she was planning to do was wrong. 

‘They will all die…’

“No.”

“Mistress Baggins…you know what is out there. You know where they will be,” 

‘They will fall…’

“I SAID NO!” Lyla shouted, angrily, “I am tired of being told where I must go and what I must do! I make my own decisions. I will not be swayed in this!”

Legolas’ eyes flashed and he sent a hard glare towards the hobbit, his voice clipped with a fury that Lyla had never seen before, “It is a fool’s errand you wish to pursue! If you knew anything of war, anything of battle, you’d see the fear in their eyes, you’d see the pain, the destruction, the death. Are you prepared for that, little Shireling? Their numbers are few, even with the aid of the elves and men. They might all die.”

“Then I shall die as one of them!” Lyla snapped, trying to pull from the elf’s grasp as Legolas pulled her into a more secluded corner.

The hobbit kicked her feet, digging her heels into the ground. 

She would not be moved on this score. 

“I have faced trolls and orcs and elves...” She sent a glare at Legolas who had the decency to look resignedly remorseful, “And I have fought for those dwarves. They are mine, my own! My family. This was my task. I agreed to it! I will not abandon them now.”

“But they abandoned you.”

“No,” Lyla remarked, pulling from the elf’s grip as the drum beats and low cries echoed in rhythm to her pounding heart, “Only one did. The rest…” she let a small smile work on her lips, ignoring the way her heart shuddered at the thought of Thorin Oakenshield. “The rest have not abandoned…And I will not abandon them. I’m a Baggins and when we make a promise…”

Lyla squared her shoulders, and set her hand on the hilt of her small sword, ignoring the shooting pain coming from her hand. 

“I will not forsake them. Not now.”

‘You are a fool…’

“But to go out there would be treason. The other dwarves, Dain’s men will try to stop you,” Legolas tried to step closer to Lyla, but she only shuffled further from the elf, “I would take you through much safer paths. Not there. Even if you could get further than the gate, you’d never make it within twenty feet of your…” 

“I have to try!” Lyla was infuriated, “You cannot make me do whatever it is you desire. I have a choice! And this is my decision. If you try to force something upon me then you are not better than Dain or…Thorin, or anyone else!” Lyla let out a shuddering breath.

“You cannot change my mind, master elf. And you’re either with me,” Lyla placed her hands in her pockets, wrapping her fingers around the humming metal of the ring, and sent a fierce glare at the elf, “Or you are not.”

A heavy weight seemed to settle on Legolas’ shoulders as he stared at the determined hobbit, standing as tall as he stature would allow.  
He let out a long sigh.

Lyla took another small step backwards, preparing to bolt if it came to that. 

“Then, Mistress Baggins,” Legolas sighed again, “It would seem that I must fulfill my duty to protect you by standing at your side.”

He gave her a smile and Lyla stared back, surprise clouding her features as the grip on the ring loosened.

“You have my bow.”

The increasing echoes of drums had both hobbit and elf stilling, peering around and straining to hear.

Legolas caught Lyla’s eye, “Come then, we must hurry. We need a good vantage point if we are to locate your companions.”

Still reeling from Legolas’ sudden agreement to help all Lyla could do was nod her head and stumble after the swift moving elf towards the staircase leading to the upper balcony.

Lyla had to suppress a shudder of pain as the still too fresh memories shot through her mind.

She fancied she could hear that hissing laughter echoing near her ears as well. 

“Come,” Legolas remarked, turning back towards her, giving Lyla a curious glance, “We must hurry.”

Lyla hadn’t realized she’d stopped walking. With a shake of her head, she nodded again to the elf before casting a tentative glance back towards the small doorway leading down to the cells.

Her worry over her friends, however, was short lived as she spied the familiar hairstyles and grinning faces.

“Go on then!” Dori called after Lyla, “We’ll see you on the battlefield.” 

Legolas was tugging Lyla’s arm, urging her to move forward and up the stairs. “If they are being forced back towards the mountain then I suspect that Thorin and my father and the wizard will all be just along the rise before you descend towards Dale, closer to the front lines.”

The echoing of the drums, the cries of war grew increasingly louder.

A loud crash of thunder sounded as Lyla and Legolas reached the balcony. 

The image before her sent shivers down the hobbit’s spine.

Legolas’ grip on her arm tightened as lightning streaked across the sky.

The flash of light highlighted the proud form that stood nearest to the wall, arms folded carefully as he watched the elf and hobbit with a narrowed gaze.

“And I knew that you weren’t to be trusted,” Lyla suppressed a groan as she stared at Dain, whose steps were deliberately slow as he approached, a smirk of amusement on his face.

Another streak of lightning.

Another crash of thunder.

“Oh, you thought that I’d fall for that trickery of yours? Your call from the front lines? Thorin needs my assistance?” He sneered at Legolas, “You are not fit to be in these halls, ELF, and your disloyalty only proves that you should not have been trusted to begin with. Thorin was right about you lot. Nothing but raggedy deceivers.”

Legolas was quick to release his grip on Lyla and pull forth his bow, eyes narrowing at the dwarf before him. 

Lyla gazed between the two with growing panic.

“You must stop this!” She admonished, taking a small step forward, despite Legolas’ protest. 

Lyla could hear the cries of battle below.

“I am not your enemy,” She continued, “There is a misunderstanding. Thorin is not—“

“You have not right,” Dain snarled, stepping forward, “No right at all to use his name. You bring disgrace to his quest, to him! You beardless little witch. I will hear no more of your lies.”

He took another step forward and Legolas pulled the string of his bow back tightly.

“Take another step and you will die,” He whispered, his voice icy as the winter wind. 

Dain only laughed. “You think that I fear you, elf? Think you that I came unprepared for your little defense of this rat?”

Dain’s eyes flicked upwards and Lyla turned towards Legolas who was gazing around as well, his bow still trained on Dain.

Lyla counted four other dwarves hidden along the ledge above the archways, their weapons drawn as they watched the elf and hobbit carefully. 

“So what is it to be?” Dain remarked, gaze returning to Legolas, “Shall I take her, or will my men kill her and yourself?”

“I’d say neither.” 

A loud trio of cries erupted from the shadows as Dori, Nori and Ori bolted towards Dain.

Cries from above sounded as the guardsmen leapt from their perches and cut off the advancement, their bodies blocking Legolas’ trained arrow from reaching its target.  
Dain took the opportunity to grab Lyla’s arm and yank her backwards, closer to his person.

“You filthy, deceptive monster,” he hissed in her ear, “I will not let you destroy this kingdom.” 

“Mistress Baggins!” Ori’s cry soared above the hiss in her ear as the young dwarf rammed into Dain Ironfoot, trying to force the dwarf to release his grip on the hobbit. 

The three of them tumbled to the ground, Dain pinned beneath both Lyla and Ori’s forms.

“Let her go!” the dwarf snapped as he yanked Dain’s arm away from Lyla pressing his elbow to the surprised dwarf’s throat, “She is not the enemy. We should focus on the war! The hobbit is on our side!”

Lyla scrambled backwards, as Dain came to his senses, his other arm coming around to connect with Ori’s jaw as the two rolled over each other fists connecting with flesh as both landed punches upon one another. 

Another dwarf, a dark haired, stalky spied Lyla and made a quick advance towards the hobbit.

Lyla fumbled for her sword and shuffled backwards, her back pressing against the short wall that stood between her and a rather nasty drop.

Metal clashed against metal as the dwarf’s axe connected with her small, elvish sword and her arms nearly buckled from the force of the blow and her inexperience with handling her sword. 

She gritted her teeth and braced her legs as another blow came at her, her sword coming up just barely to block a strike.

Annoyance and aggravation ate at her as she growled and pushed her weight into throwing the large dwarf off.

“Stay back!” She snapped, her blade meeting his axe once again, “I’m warning you! Stay away from me!”

She noticed that this dwarf’s footing was not as sure as Thorin’s or Dwalin’s had been. She could see the way he shuffled slightly, trying to adjust to meet her advances. 

But his shuffles were slow.

With another growl Lyla sped up her movements, as clumsy as they were, and forced the dwarf to take a step backwards.

And then another. 

Right into the waiting hit from the hilt of Dori’s sword. 

The dwarf groaned, his eyes filling with surprise as his axe dropped and he crumpled.

Dori shot Lyla a quick nod. 

But then a cry had both dwarf and hobbit turning, horrified, towards Dain Ironfoot who had connected a small knife with Ori’s fighting arm, forcing the dwarf to drop his weapon.

‘No.’ Lyla thought desperately as Dain landed another blow on the weaponless dwarf, ‘Not him. Don’t hurt him.’

Ori managed to land a blow of his own onto Dain’s stomach, forcing the warrior to take a small step back from the younger, more inexperienced dwarf. 

Ori then hefted his smaller battleaxe in his weaker hand and made a strike against Dain.

Who blocked him easily and sent the other dwarf’s knees buckling from the weight of his parrying movement. 

Lyla could see what was happening and she quickly sheathed her sword as her feet started moving before Dain lifted his sword up again to strike at Ori. 

“Stop!” she cried, launching herself at Dain Ironfoot, throwing the dwarf backwards, making him stumble.

The warrior growled as he tightened his grip on the hobbit trying to right his footing and connect a blow. His free hand pulled at her hair, trying to force Lyla away from him. 

His knee connected with Lyla’s stomach.

“You will never reach him. I’ll kill you and each member of this company who tries to stop me from doing so, you traitorous thief! Servant of the enemy!”

He tried to shove her back.

But Lyla kept her feet firm, ignoring the blinding pain that knocked the wind form her lungs and pushed all her weight into the dwarf’s chest and rocked both of them backwards until she felt his body connect with something hard.

And suddenly, they were tipping. 

The world tilted, Dain’s sword slipped from his hand and colors blended together as a hobbit and a dwarf toppled over the side of the wall, their cries fading into the sounds of the battle raging below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...it's coming. Fast. 
> 
> Hope you're prepared for the next events. It's going to be a bumpy ride. 
> 
> But let me know what you thought of this chapter! I'm curious to see your reactions.
> 
> And check out these lovely authors:
> 
> chappysmom:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> kookookarli:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> luckyhai5:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


	65. War and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle
> 
> WARNING: depictions of violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright my lovely readers, I must apologize first and foremost. That flu that I caught has plagued me for weeks now. I have felt miserable for so long. It is insane. So that really laid up much of my writing time because I was simply too tired to do much else! However I did get a lovely chapter written for you...and then it got erased. So I was force to rewrite the entire thing. 
> 
> And so you have this chapter...which I'm not entirely sure how you might react to it. It's big...and long and...really I just hope that you enjoy it. I'd love to hear your comments.

Elrond stared out into the garden, his thoughts far from the tranquility of Imladris’ borders. 

His thoughts were on a company of dwarves. 

And a hobbit.

“They will need you before the end,” Galadriel’s voice rang softly in his ear.

All the elf lord could do was nod his head, a seed of dread sowing into his heart. 

*****  
They rolled.

Over jagged rocks, that dug into Lyla’s back, and down the steep slope, the two of them bounced over one another as they descended in a tangle of limbs and loud cries of surprise and pain. 

The connection with the ground at the bottom was rough. 

With a cry, Lyla landed atop the warrior Dain, her head crashing, rather painfully, into the armor across his chest, as dirt and pebbles rained down upon them, the roar of battle drumming in Lyla’s ears. Stars danced in front of her eyes and the world around her wobbled dangerously as she lifted her head. 

The dwarf beneath her groaned lowly, but never loosened his grip on the hobbit, his fingers digging into the thin fabric covering her arms. 

She noted a few dwarves, still near the gates, quickening their steps towards them, their cries lost on Lyla’s ears. 

Panic hammered at her heart and she tried to rise, to get away.

But Dain would have none of it.

“You,” he seethed, his voice laced with pain as he shoved her backwards and propelled himself into a sitting position. His grip never loosened on her arms. 

“You tried to kill me.”

Lyla tried to twist from Dain’s grasp, kicking her feet and shuffling backwards. But nothing worked.

“It wasn’t like that,” She mumbled, her own voice sounding strange in her ears, as she tried to get her bearings, “I was just-“ 

“You stupid creature!” Dain hissed cutting her off, “Do you think that I would ever believe you?!” 

The dwarf rose to his feet, dragging the struggling hobbit with him. He gave Lyla a hard shake, making her head pound.

Ignoring the way that colors swam together, Lyla steadied herself by grasping onto the dwarf’s arms and bringing her feet forward to strike at the creature’s knees.

She missed the first time, her footing unsure, and Dain continued to shake her, making Lyla’s teeth rattle and he head spin.

But the second time she kicked, Lyla managed to land a solid connection with Dain’s knees. 

“Lass!” 

She recognized that voice. 

Dwarves converged upon them as Dain released his grip on Lyla whose own knees buckled as she landed upon the ground. Rising, as quickly as her body would allow, the hobbit tried to put as much distance between herself and Dain Ironfoot, as possible. 

Which proved difficult with the others getting in her way. 

“Lass!” 

She heard the familiar call again as strange dwarves grabbed at her, tugging at her clothes and her hair, and blocking her escape from their leader. With angry grunts, they pressed around her, trying to push her back, force her back into the mountain. 

But she’d had enough. 

With a frustrated growl of her own, Lyla leapt forward, pushing her arms outward and barreling into a surly looking fellow with dark hair, knocking the surprised dwarf backwards and sending Lyla stumbling past the creature, her head spinning from adrenaline. 

“Stop her!” She could hear Dain’s cry as she tried to maneuver past more of the guards, these one brandishing weapons against her.

In sweet Eru’s name, didn’t they see the war going on around them? With each step she took, Lyla could see the enemy moving closer, the noises of battle getting steadily louder. Orcs and goblins were pushing their forces back, she could see them not three hundred feet from where she stood. 

Did Dain’s guards not notice? 

Surely they did.

Did they not care?

Lyla skidded to a stop as Dain’s men closed in around her, and pulled her own sword forth, prepared to defend herself if need be.

But then a glorious sight greeted her and sent her heart thudding in relief and her assailants stilling. 

A familiar, hat-wearing dwarf, elbowed and shoved the other dwarves around him, his eyes alight with determination and a deep-rooted fury. 

“Lass!” he called again, spotting her. His eyes narrowed at the others around him, and he gave a loud yell as he launched an attack on the remaining dwarves blocking his path, his mattock raised high, his actions battle ready.

With a swift swing, he knocked two dwarves to their knees and spun around to greet another’s axe, pressing his weight into the upswing, forcing the other dwarf to stumble backwards. 

Bifur and Bombur were close behind Bofur, their cries echoing the battle that was slowly creeping upon the rabble at the gate. 

Out of the corner of her eye Lyla caught Bifur swinging one dwarf around until he was propelled into another dwarf charging him, sending both tumbling to the ground, all the  
while Bombur brought down a heavy object upon still another dwarf’s head. 

‘Aule,’ Lyla had to blink a few times to reassure herself. ‘Is that a frying pan?!’ 

With another smack, Bombur brought his weapon—indeed a frying pan—against the face of another dwarf, rendering the creature unconscious. 

One brave dwarf, a dark haired fellow with an over abundance of markings upon his skin, managed to latch onto Lyla, twisting her arm and pulling to distracted hobbit closer ot his person. 

But a grunt of surprise and pain assailed him as Lyla connected the hilt of her sword into the dwarf’s abdomen, wiggling from his grasp. Then, taking the hilt of her sword upwards, she cracked the hard, elvish letter opener upon the back of the dwarf’s head, sending the creature sprawling. 

But then another arm seized out to grab her, sending Lyla into a flurry of movement, trying to get away. 

She swung around to bash the dwarf’s nose with the dull end of her sword, when a deep, familiar chuckle resounded in her ears. 

Being whipped around, Lyla stared up in the grinning face of Bofur, who held her arm tightly, pulling the now still hobbit into a swift hug.

“Lass,” He muttered, “Ye’ve certainly got a knack for trouble.” 

He gently pushed the hobbit behind him and glared at the oncoming dwarves, led by Dain Ironfoot, “I’ll not let ye touch her, and if ye were wise enough, ye’d see that there there’s more pressin’ matters to attend to!”

The dwarf gestured around.

“War is upon us, lads and if we do nothin’ then it will make corpses of us all.” 

Dain snarled contemptuously, “She is a traitor. She betrayed the king and she is our bargaining chip to exact justice upon those who have the arkenstone in their possession. And you!” He pointed a gloved finger at Bofur, “You are aiding her and THAT is a crime punishable by death. Do not think, miner, that I will overlook this treason.”

Bofur laughed, a cold dark laugh that made Lyla shudder as he adjusted his grip on his mattock, “Aye it’s true that I’m helpin’ the lass. And I’ll gladly take any punishment ye can deal out to me. But I won’t be lettin’ you get hold of her. She did what was right and she stood up to the king.”

“She betrayed him,” Dain muttered darkly, “She’s a spy and a thief and has no place amongst us. She should never have come here, never have interfered.”

“Now that’s enough of that!” Bofur was getting angry, “She’s saved that dolt of a king more than once and she gave us a chance te protect this mountain! She’s done nothin’ wrong. 

Not in my book anyhow and I’ll not let you get yer grimy paws upon her in the name of a king who chases the past and obsesses over golden trinkets and useless baubles. Yer both mad!”

The verbal sparring suddenly erupted into a battle of weapons as Dain charged forward, having grabbed one guard’s hammer, prepared to strike Bofur down. 

But the hatted dwarf was ready for him and met the warrior’s weapon with a strike from his own. With a deft swing, Bofur’s mattock met Dain’s hammer, the sound of their connecting blow nearly deafening the hobbit. 

Snarls of outrage filled her ears as blow after blow connected together. 

The battle around the sidelines continued as Bombur and Bifur continued to assault Dain’s guards their swings precise, their movements agile, even in the worsening conditions.  
Thunder crashed overhead again and a streak of brilliant white light zoomed through the sky as rain started to fall. 

Lyla adjusted the grip on her sword prepared to attack anyone that came near her.

“Lass!” Bofur’s call rose above the cries of the ensusing battles, “Lass ye need to run!” the hatted dwarf called to his charge, “Keep hold of yer weapon and get away from here, the lads and I will handle this mess.”

She wanted to protest, to argue that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself thank you very much! But, as soon as she opened her mouth Bofur sent her a withering glare to silence her.

“I’ll not be hearin’ any protests on the matter lass!” he panted, as another blow from Dain connected with his mattock, “Ye’ll run. And ye’ll run now! I know where ye plan to go, now do it before someone tries to stop ye!”

She saw the pleading in Bofur’s eyes and Lyla’s heart stuttered with an anguished appreciation for all that he’d done for her. 

But the distraction of the moment was what Dain had been waiting for. 

With a loud shout of fury, he brought his hammer sideways, striking Bofur in the shoulder, sending the miner down, forcing him to drop his weapon in surprise and pain. 

Lyla let out a shriek of protest and charged forward towards her friend. 

“Leave him alone!” She bellowed, “Raising her sword, prepared to defend Bofur from further attack.”

But this had been Dain’s plan all along. 

Quicker than she could comprehend, Dain, swung his hammer catching Lyla as she was halfway ready to block his advancement, the hammer only connecting with the very tip of Lyla’s sword, the shockwave from the powerful swing sending a jolt down Lyla’s arm, making her limbs shake as she tried to prevent the hammer from coming down upon her.  
Using all her exertion, Lyla pressed her weight into blocking the next blow and nearly dropped her weapon for her troubles.

Dain was a powerful opponent and one bent on connecting a solid hit against her person.

“You stupid creature,” he growled, as Lyla tried to block another blow, stumbling backwards as she did, “You lied to him! You took that stone to his enemy, to the one creature who betrayed him when he needed them! You willingly gave up his most prized possession and for what? Leverage? I hardly dare believe that!”

Another blow was thrust her way and Lyla’s arms shook from the contact. 

She slipped on the muddied ground, nearly losing her balance. 

“You have been sent to the dwarves as a curse. Your coming here is as the footsteps of doom. You bring a great evil with you and you corrupt all those who trust you,” Dain snarled at her, his face twisted into a look of fury, “Curse you!” He called, “Curse you and all the Halflings. You have no business amongst us and I’ll make sure that your sentence will be a swift one.”

Disbelief rocketed through Lyla’s frame as she tried to fight off Dain’s advancements. She could hardly bear the words coming from the dwarf’s mouth. 

And then her own eyes narrowed and a raw anger started to eat at her.

How dare he.

How dare that dwarf assume so much about her and her motives. 

He did not know her.

Digging her heels into the ground as best as she could, Lyla gripped the hilt of her sword tightly and slammed a hit against the dwarf’s hammer. But she didn’t wait for the Dain to retreat this time. Instead, Lyla was first to pull back and then with a quick swing, she brought her sword downwards, sweeping under the dwarf’s left leg, while she twisted out of the way of the descending hammer. 

The connection, though not intended to harm Dain, threw the dwarf off balance enough for Lyla to connect another hit, this time on Dain’s hammer-wielding arm.  
The hobbit glared at the dwarf.

“Do not presume to know me,” she snapped, taking a step further away from Dain, “You know not my motivations or my intentions. And no amount of explanation will make it  
clear to you I see. You presume the honor of judging me. But do not think for one moment that I will sit idly by and allow such filth to come from your mouth any longer.” 

Her fury turned to frustration as another dwarf came up behind her, pressing the handle of his axe against her throat, pulling her back against his person.

Oh for sweet Eru’s sake!

Lyla struggled to get away as Dain slowly rose to his feet, a dark chuckle on his lips.

“LET ME GO!” She shrieked, turning and kicking her feet.

“Take note, little hobbit,” He growled, slowly stepping forward, “Your deceit ends today. Your request is denied. You are a traitor to this mountain, to this people and you will NEVER be welcomed in the halls of Erebor. The only reason you are spared now is because you will be the one to secure the arkenstone is returned to its rightful place. And then you, you will face your judgment.”

Dain shot a glare at Bofur as the miner was rising slowly, gingerly to his feet.

“And if you make any moves, I’ll not stay my hand.”

The dwarf pinning the struggling hobbit, tightened his grip on his axe, pulling the cool metal hard against Lyla’s throat, making the hobbit cough at the pressure. 

But as Dain took a step forward, an arrow landed in the mud in front of the dwarf’s foot, forcing Dain Ironfoot to halt his movements. 

Another arrow landed in front of Lyla.

“My next shot will not miss.”

Lyla’s gaze drifted upwards and in surprise she recognized the tall, slim silhouette of Legolas as he slid easily down the hill that Lyla and Dain had tumbled down. He held an arrow notched in his bow, his eyes trained on Dain Ironfoot. 

“Do not think I won’t kill you dwarf,” He hissed, a frown marring his features. Lyla was struck by the familiarity of those words. “You will release the hobbit. She is of no concern to  
you.

“I will do no such thing!” Dain hissed, “This betrayer will remain in my possession.”

Lyla was offended by the dwarf’s terms. She was not some trinket to pass around and she was tired of being considered such.

But she remained silent, fuming and watching with wary curiosity to see how Legolas would react. The elf didn’t hesitate in walking slowly forward, unperturbed by the others around him as he kept a firm glare upon Dain. 

The other dwarves were held at bay by the efforts of Bofur, Bifur and Bombur as well as Dori, Nori and Ori, the last, with hand wrapped in torn material, cast the hobbit a sorrowful frown, his eyes wide and worried. 

“Release her,” Legolas commanded again. “I will not ask a third time, dwarf,” the elf spat the work, moving swiftly and assuredly through the muddied ground. 

Dain chuckled darkly but stood his ground, his back straight, shoulders pushed back, completely unshaken by the advancement of the elf. 

“I will not release her.” He remarked simply. “And my guard will not release your hobbit no matter what you do to me. But consider this, elf,” Dain remarked coldly, “Will you risk war between elves and dwarves over a hobbit? A simple, stupid, deceptive creature? You will risk ruin for that?”

Legolas regarded the dwarf carefully, never lowering his notched arrow, his arms straight, prepared to release the weapon. Lyla truly wondered, in that moment whether the elf prince would risk the wrath of the dwarves upon himself all for her sake.

She heard the growing cries of battle, the snarls of orcs and their dark language growing ever louder. 

She wondered…

“You know nothing of her,” Legolas murmured lowly, dangerously, “You know not what she has done or who she is. Your pride is a most unfortunate flaw in your character and it clouds your judgment. And I would risk war for what is right.”

And with one final glare Legolas released his arrow. 

But not before shifting his stance and firing a shot that whizzed past Dain’s shoulder, embedding into the neck of an advancing orc. 

The battled had reached them. 

But the elf’s actions set the dwarves into motion. 

The one holding Lyla jerked backwards as the arrow sailed past his commander.

Lyla had anticipated this however, after seeing Legolas’ little deception, and swung her legs outward, gaining momentum to knock the dwarf off balance enough to pull on the axe handle and release it from the dwarf’s grip. 

The axe was too heavy for her to wield but with the dwarf now weaponless, the fight was a bit fairer for the hobbit. 

The bulky creature regained his footing in short order and made an attempt towards Lyla who steadied her own foot and leapt into the air, vaulting herself over the dwarf’s shoulder and behind him. 

With an almost giddy giggle at her move (something she hadn’t done since she was a faunt and had gotten into a scuffle with some of the boys) Lyla made to get as far away from  
the Dain Ironfoot and his guards as possible. 

But that would prove harder than she anticipated. 

Though Legolas’ shot at an advancing orc certainly provided her with a moment to get past the guards, it didn’t stop the reality of the situation from presenting itself. 

Orcs and goblins were advancing upon the mountain at an alarming rate, the dwarves and elves and men being pushed back by the sheer enormity of the army they fought. On every side of her, snarling faces appeared. Orcs and goblins with jagged yellowed teeth, scars, contusions, and snapping growls of dark speech surrounded her fighting against the dwindling number of elves and dwarves. Arrows were being fired, axe, spear and sword were contending against mace and clubs. Howls of pain reached the hobbit’s ears and unease settled in her heart. 

Lyla let out a shriek of her own, bringing her sword up as a gangly goblin with patches of greasy hair and wide bulbous eyes advanced on her a small curved knife in his overly large hands.

Sword met flesh as Lyla swung her weapon—rather clumsily—and made a sizeable connection with the goblin’s arm, sending the creature howling backwards, stumbling and sinking into the muddied ground.

“Lass!” Bofur’s call rose above the cries of battle as another goblin made a run towards Lyla, this one far larger and more agile than the last. 

With a loud cry, the goblin jumped towards the hobbit, his large, muscled arms wielding a rather impressive metal club. 

He took a swing at the hobbit, his black eyes narrowed in fury, his sharp rotting teeth pulled into a sneer as he spat something at her. 

Lyla wasn’t quite quick enough to block the full force of the blow. The club, with its sharp, pointed edges caught the hobbit in the shoulder, sending her reeling backwards as a dull throbbing ache settled in her arm.

However, before the creature could take another swipe at the hobbit, Bofur was there, his mattock bearing down upon the goblin’s chest.

“Lass!” Bofur commanded, never taking his eyes from the goblin as he swung again,”Ye need to move. Get away from here.” When Lyla didn’t move Bofur let out a low groan of frustration, “LASS!” he shouted, giving her a shove, “Move it lass, now! We’ll be right as rain. You’ll see. Get that ring on yer finger and move away. Go!”

“NO!” Dain’s bellow sliced through the deafening battle noises, “I will not let her leave!” The dwarf made a beeline for the hobbit as Lyla hastily scuttled away from Bofur and into the fray of chaotic swinging axes and parrying swords. 

Lyla, however, was already pulling the ring from her pocket, and slipping it onto her finger. 

“You cannot stop me,” she murmured more to herself than the dwarf advancing on her, “I will help him.”

Dain’s face contorted from fury to shock as Lyla disappeared from sight.

But Lyla did not feel comfort. 

In fact, she nearly let out a scream as her world went hazy, the power of the ring taking effect.

For standing near the dwarf warrior was a tall figure cloaked in a brilliant white, his features hidden by shadow, except for a few wisps of long white hair. A long bony hand rested carefully on Dain’s shoulder as the figure bent low, gravelly murmurs filling the void of silence that prevailed in this hidden world Lyla found herself in. 

‘Aule what is that thing?!’ she stared, wide-eyed, at the figure, trying to determine if her eyes were playing tricks on her.

And then the figure turned slowly towards her, face hidden by the large hooded cloak it bore.

Lyla was reeling backwards, her heart hammering as the hissing laughter grew louder in her ear. 

She wanted to get away from there. 

Slipping through the mud and dodging as many of the warriors as she could, Lyla retreated into the thick of battle, as orcs and goblins descended upon Dain Ironfoot and the rest of the dwarves at the gate. 

Guilt surged through her as she stumbled and splashed through the mud, the rain matting her hair and making her teeth chatter. 

She should have stayed to fight.

‘Coward’ the familiar, malicious voice murmured, ‘Running away from battle, hiding like a rat in a hole.’

‘No.’ she reassured herself, ‘That’s not true.’

Lyla knew there would be more problems if she stayed. The dwarves would be torn between trying to capture her (or protect her) and defending their mountain. 

No, it was far better if she slipped away. 

Casting one glance back at her friends, she noted the way Bofur and the others fought with an elegant ease, their movements fluid and sure. 

“Eru let them be safe,” She whispered, wiping her matted curls from her eyes and slipping beneath the swings of axe and mace, twisting past the moving bodies engaged in vicious battle.

She pushed her doubting thoughts aside for the moment, determined to focus on other things. 

She NEEDED to focus on other things.

Tightening her grip on the hilt of her small, glowing blade, Lyla moved towards the small crest where she hoped Thorin would be. 

*****

Thorin’s muscles were burning. 

His shoulders felt stiff from the exertion. He could feel the sweat from his temples mixing in with the rain and slipped down his cheeks and nose, the saltiness stinging his eyes.  
His breaths were coming out in small, painful puffs of air.

But he could not rest. 

Not now as hoards of orcs and goblins surround him, pressing in on every side, snarling and snapping, taking swipes with their weapons. 

Many met a satisfying end upon the edge of his blade. 

But there were still so many around him, pressing him, crowding him.

And he realized, with a pang of worry, that many of his companions had been separated from the rest, himself included. He noted Fili and Kili standing together, bow and sword moving in a synchronized pattern as they defended one another. 

Dwalin and Balin were in a similar circumstance. 

Even the wizard and elf king had been herded away from one another. They fought with a zeal and determination that astonished the dwarf king.

With a growl of annoyance, Thorin brought his sword upwards, blocking a blow from an orc’s axe as the large, slithery creature bore down upon the dwarf king, pressing his weight into his arms.

Thorin could feel himself sliding backwards, the mud rising over his boots.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on orcrist and with a quick flick of his wrist brought the orc’s axe sideways long enough to impale the creature’s chest with his blade.  
It didn’t matter, however, how many of his enemy he brought down, three more took the place of their fallen comrade. It was a never-ending sea of snarling faces and low, guttural cries. 

And Thorin was beginning to feel fatigue wash over him. 

The enemy was wearing him down.

And no one was close enough to assist him should he falter. 

He was alone. 

Dark laughter filled Thorin’s ears and a sense of unease settled upon his shoulders.

‘Foolish king,’ the voice chided, ‘consenting to fight with the commoners. Did you not realize that your place was in your mountain, amongst your treasures? You did not need to  
fight this war. It is all a ploy. A clever trick of the elves and men. They mean to destroy you.’

A cold horror and fury washed over the dwarf as he thought of the betrayal the elves and men were inflicting upon his people. 

‘This has been their plan all along. They seek your mountain. They seek your treasure.’

And yet…

When Thorin gazed around, really gazed around, he saw the elves and men—his supposed enemies—fighting alongside his people, some even falling in defense of his mountain, falling for his kin.

It didn’t make sense.

Something was wrong.

“Thorin!” 

*****

Lyla could feel the weight of the ring wearing down on her, making her steps sluggish and sloppy. And with the throngs of warriors pressed around her, it was hard to navigate the muddy terrain without running into someone.

A goblin was tossed into Lyla’s path, colliding with the hobbit and sending the two of them splashing to the ground. Surprised at the contact, the goblin started to thrash and beat against Lyla’s invisible form.

Until her sword came up, sending the shocked creature into stillness.

Lyla cringed and shuddred as she heaved the warm, slimy mass off of her and scrambled to her feet.

The faint, sinister laughter she’d become so accustomed to grew in volume as she struggled up the hill, hoping that she’d meet a familiar face through the hazy, distorted vision she had of the battlefield. 

And then She heard the cry. 

“To the king!” 

Kili.

Oh Aule it was Kili! 

Lyla’s heart dropped to the soles of her feet as she spied the young archer dwarf trying to hurry through the battlefield, trying to get to Thorin’s side. 

“To the king!” Fili mimicked his brother, raising his arm high as a signal to the others, “Hasten to the king!”

Lyla’s scanned the battlefield searching. 

Where was…

Her eyes widened in horror and alarm at the two figures pacing warily around one another. 

The first she immediately recognized as Thorin Oakenshield. His armor was battered, his hair rolling down his back in wet ringlets as he held his sword firmly in his hands, with teeth bared prepared to attack. 

He looked intimidating and regal.

The second figure made Lyla’s breathing catch in her throat. The giant orc (for what else could he be) slowly circled the dwarf, his pale skin striking Lyla with a familiar dread. As the creature turned, she caught a glimpse of his face and recoiled in fear. Bathed in a myriad of scars, two piercing eyes narrowed at her dwarf. Bits of metal and wood seemed to be firmly embedded in the orc’s skin atop his head as scraggly tufts of hair swirled down past the creature’s ears. With his cracked lips that exposed his sharp, blackened teeth, the orc sneered at Thorin, gripping his overly large mace tightly as he paced. 

With a loud cry, the orc shot forward, swinging his mace with such force that the contact with Thorin’s sword sent the dwarf stumbling and sliding backwards.

Lyla watched, terrified but unable to gaze away, as the orc bore down upon the dwarf who held his sword as firmly as possible in his shaking grasp. 

And then the dwarf’s hold buckled and he was forced to dodge a rather deadly blow from the orc’s mace. 

Lyla’s feet were moving of their own accord as she shoved elf, dwarf, man and orc alike to get to Thorin. 

She needed to do something. 

Anything. 

But then something caught her eye, stilling her movements and filling her with trepidation and fear. 

A figure, hooded in black and producing a hazy mist all his own stood between the dwarf and orc, seeming to float carefully above the soggy ground that she stood upon. 

It was the voice however, that sent a horrified jolt down Lyla’s spine. 

The same hissing whispers that she’d been hearing for so long were coming from the mouth of this dark specter. 

And then the specter stilled, his head slowly turning towards the hobbit, his face a black void of darkness that completely concealed all features greeted her. 

‘Shireling’ she heard the faint murmur.

Her hand felt incredibly warm, almost unbearably so and she had the sudden urge to rip the ring from her finger. 

‘Little Shireling here at last?’ 

The shadowy figure was upon her so quickly that Lyla recoiled, nearly ramming into a dwarf in the process. She felt as though her skin was crawling as the dark figure stood there, silent and faceless. 

What could it possibly want?

‘Did I not tell you of their fate?’ the voice was tickling Lyla’s ear, ‘Did I not say that they were slated to die? The line of Durin must end today. I have made it so, little hobbit.’

Panic filled Lyla’s chest.

No. 

She would not allow it.

“You are not fate!” She snapped, feeling far less brave than she sounded, “And no one can control fate.”

The figure chuckled darkly, condescendingly.

‘Then you know little of who I am,’ he remarked flippantly, ‘I can do anything I desire. I control this war, I control these warriors,” a thin grey arm stretched forth, ‘And the line of Durin will fall today. I have made it so.’

No.

“NO.” Lyla remarked, resolutely, “I will not allow it. You cannot do this.” 

The hobbit made to take a step forward, finding her steps stiff, her feet were difficult to move.

Lyla caught a glimpse of Thorin rising to his feet and with a yell, placing a blow upon the giant orc’s arm, cutting in the exposed pale flesh.

Yet, nothing happened. 

No cry of anguish.

No blood. 

Just a stoic, if sinisterly jovial grin graced the creature’s features. 

The figure laughed, ‘Have you not learned, yet, little creature, that I control all? They are slated to die, I have made it so. Since the beginning. I have plotted this since the begging. Since their expulsion from the mountain, to their doomed march upon Moria, I controlled it all. It was my doing that took them to that mine. And it is my doing now, that brings the dead back for vengeance.’ Then the figure’s voice shifted, became softer, ‘but that does not have to be your fate.’

The ring on her hand seemed to buzz. 

‘The dead?’ she wondered confusedly, ‘How is that possible?’

‘You, little hobbit, have something I greatly desire and I am…willing…to make an arrangement if you agree to the terms,’ the shadow’s voice caressed her ear, ‘I have seen your fears. I have been there to witness your moments of weakness. I was there in that forest, in those dungeons and I stand here now. I know what you desire. And I know what you dread. I can control that.’

Lyla could hear the cries of battle around her. She could hear Kili’s call for aid, Fili’s panicked cry for his uncle and Thorin’s groan of pain.  
Her heart started to hammer painfully.

What could she possibly offer this…being?

She didn’t understand.

‘I am weak, little Shireling,’ the shadowy figure continued, his voice low, gravelly, and yet pleasing to the ear, ‘I cannot take back my full form. My magic is limited, though I control this war, over these creatures.’ He chuckled, ‘The dead are always so eager to exact revenge upon those who have slain them.’

Lyla caught sight of the giant orc advancing on Thorin, his movements erratic and powerful as he swung his mace at Thorin repeatedly. And try as he might, the dwarf king could not seem to land a hit that rendered his opponent immobilized. 

Though many SHOULD have done so. 

Thorin caught the beast’s shoulder, his neck and calves, all spaces where the metal, spiked armor did not cover. 

And nothing happened. The creature didn’t acknowledge he’d even been hit. 

“He’s…dead,” she murmured perturbed, “Thorin…can’t—he can’t kill him. No-no matter how hard he tries.”

Lyla sent a glare to the dark figure, her fury boiling hot. 

She raised her sword to point at the specter. “You will stop this,” she seethed, “You will end this now.”

The figure only laughed, ‘Still mooring away at that are you? Stubborn creature. Clinging like a fool to that sliver of curiosity and courage that you have within you. And you will ensure that I cease this war?’ he snorted, ‘You are not capable of such things.’

“You know nothing of me!” Lyla shouted, “You do not know me or what I will do! And you have no reason to harm them. What are the dwarves to you?”

‘They,’ the figure began softly, ‘are a nuisance. They get in the way of my plans. I have much to accomplish and I will not let anyone stand in my way. And now, you bring something I did not expect. You bring something I have searched long for and I find that I am willing to alter my plans to accommodate you. I know that you will do anything for them,’ the figure remarked, almost affectionately, gently. Lyla was thrown off by the pleasing tones in the specter’s voice, ‘And if you will do what I ask then I will spare them. Without me, you cannot hope to save them. Give me my ring and all will be righted.’

His--? 

Lyla could feel the way the ring hummed and vibrated against her finger, the warmth it emanated.

The thought to give the trinket to this figure wrapped around her mind and a sense of peace washed over her. 

Surely that would be a most beneficial plan, her mind remarked. 

She hated the ring. She hated he immense feeling of sorrow and depression she bore whenever it rested upon her finger.

It was an evil bauble. And while it had benefitted her thus far, it was an unsettling device that she wished to be rid of…

And if she gave it to him, then he’d resolve this whole useless war. It was a reasonable request…

Right?

But doubt plagued her. Something felt wrong. 

She didn’t trust this figure. And as the cries of her friends echoed in her ears, Lyla’s mistrust grew and her resolve hardened.

If he had created this ring, this wicked little trinket, then his intentions with it were most suspicious.

With great effort, Lyla clasped her hand together, blocking the ring from view and raised her sword higher, warily regarding the figure. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, and then started to march past the figure, determined to get to her friends.

“Your words are poison. I do not need you and your lies. I would be a fool to trust them.” 

But quicker than the lightening that streaked across the sky, the shadow figure moved in front of Lyla again, who out of surprise and anger, brought her sword forward and struck the creature as she shuffled backwards.

Her hit went through the specter completely and all she was left with was the sinister echoing laughter as her arm shook and burned with an agonizing heat.

She let out a cry of pain, nearly dropping her sword, trying to get her arm to stop throbbing. 

‘You think that I was here? You think I would risk that? No, you ignorant creature. I am where I have always been. You cannot hope to slay me. And now you will watch your friends fall. Bolg will exact revenge upon your Thorin Oakenshield and you will be left to bear the weight of the dead.’ The figure drifted closer to her, and Lyla cringed backward as her hand continued to burn, ‘And one way or another I will retrieve what is mine. ‘

Dread pulsed through her veins, a deep-rooted fear encased her heart and Lyla wanted nothing but to disappear from the creature’s sight. 

And she wanted to help her friends.

“To the king!” she heard the shouts continue.

She heard the cries of pain.

And then she heard Gandalf’s loud cry of anger and when she looked, something snapped her attention. She watched as he swung his staff, connecting with the jaw of one orc, while bringing his sword up to slice through another beast’s stomach. 

Lyla’s eyes were riveted to the staff. 

The hobbit narrowed her eyes and with a firm nod charged forward, through the specter’s form, ignoring the way her body was wracked with shudders and the way the laughter echoed around her.

“Gandalf!” She bellowed, trying to get closer to Thorin as she did. 

The dwarf was fighting valiantly, but nothing he did would spare him a painful death. 

The creature Bolg was dead already. 

“Gandalf!” Lyla ripped the ring from her finger, shocking the creatures around her as she charged through the ranks of fighting, shoving and swinging her sword, to clear a pathway. 

A few goblins and orcs charged her, but the hobbit was moving too quickly to stop the way her sword embedded themselves into the creature’s bellies and chests. 

One orc shot forward and connected a hit with his mace, rocketing the hobbit backwards and sending waves of pain shooting through her. 

The laughter continued to echo in her ears.

‘You will die as one of them, then.’

The creatures pounced upon her, their snarling faces pressing around her as the clawed at her, tugging on her arms trying to rip her sword from her grasp.

“GANDALF!” She cried, “Gandalf!”

There was a snarling overhead and orcs and goblins were ripped off of the struggling hobbit. 

“Lass!” Dwalin’s face appeared among the enemies, “What are ye doing here? How—“

He growled and yanked another goblin backwards, embedding his war hammer into the beast’s stomach.

“Mistress Baggins!” Balin’s voice floated in Lyla’s ear.

She saw the shorter dwarf’s arm slice through the air and connect his sword into an orc’s shoulder, sending the creature howling and snarling backwards.

“How did ye get here lass?”

Dwalin was pulling her to her feet.

“Thorin?” She questioned, her voice raised in panic, “He-he can’t kill Bolg. It won’t work!”

Dwalin started, giving her a surprised look, “How did ye—“

“It doesn’t matter!” She shouted, “We need Gandalf. He has to do something…a spell…whatever it is that wizards do! That orc is out to kill him. To kill the line of Durin. We have to get to Gandalf!”

“Lass how—“ Dwalin was pulling her through the ensuing battle, his hammer swiping the oncoming enemy as chaos swirled around them, “How in Durin’s name do you know that?”  
A loud cry had dwarf and hobbit jerking.

"Go, lad," Balin called to his brother, "I'll find Gandalf."

The cry resounded again and Lyla's blood ran cold. 

It was Thorin. 

Thorin Oakenshield let out an agonized cry of pain.

Lyla saw the dwarf fall, his sword slipping from his grip as the giant, terrifying orc, Bolg sneered down at him. 

Something in Lyla shattered as she watched the dwarf fall, his face a resigned horror as the orc loomed overhead.

No.

“NO!” She shouted, tugging from Dwalin’s arm and darting towards Thorin.

“Lass!” Dwalin bellowed, yanking her back, “You can’t do that. Ye can’t go in there.”

She watched the orc take another swing at the dwarf king, as Fili stepped forward, to block the blow and defend his uncle. 

The younger, blonde dwarf, gritted his teeth and shoved all his weight into the onslaught of blows meant for Thorin, trying to push Bolg back.

The giant orc, however, was too much of an opponent for Fili’s small arsenal of weapons to accommodate. The massive, scarred creature pulled back and swung his mace downwards again, forcing the dwarf’s knees to buckle from the force. 

Kili let out an angered howl and fired an arrow at Bolg’s neck, the shaft of the arrow easily embedding in the creature’s flesh.

All it managed to do was incense the giant orc futher.

“You will all die,” he snarled, raising his mace and bringing it down with a quick jerk to the left, catching Fili’s grip and knocking his sword from his hands.

“Leave him alone!” Lyla shouted, barreling towards the orc and her friends, “Do not touch him.”

She knew she wouldn’t cause damage, even with her sword drawn.

She knew this was a fool’s errand as she stepped between the orc and Fili. The laughter in the back of her mind reassured her of that knowledge. But for the life of her, she could not picture the world, her world, without his presence. 

She couldn’t picture her life without those she cared for.

Not again.

The orc, stopped, surprised at the entrance of a new fighter .

That surprise quickly turned to laughter, deep, terrifying laughter, as he assessed the hobbit before him.

But he wasted no time in bringing his mace down upon the hobbit, forcing Lyla to twist backwards, nearly knocking into Dwalin, who shoved Lyla behind him.

“Stand down,” He growled at Bolg, “I’ll not let you harm her or anyone else.”

Bolg brought his mace down upon the dwarf, as Dwalin brought his hammers upward, his knees bending under the weight of the orc’s blow.

“Lass,” He thundered, his voice strained, the muscles in his neck bulging, “Run.”

The dark laughter from the shadow figure continued to echo around her.

‘Yes run, coward.’

But Lyla would not.

“I won’t,” she remarked, “Not again. I won’t do it.”

“Lass!” Dwalin’s voice was one of warning as he landed an impressive blow against Bolg’s chest.

“Mistress Boggins!” Kili cried, dragging her back, away from the orc and dwarf as they continued to spar, “You need to move!”

Orcs and goblins began to assail them, forcing Lyla to pull her sword up to defend herself again. 

“We have to get to Thorin,” She called to the younger dwarf who was firing arrow after arrow into the throngs of enemies around them, “I-“

“Go!” Kili shouted towards her, “I’ll hold them off as long as possible.” 

With a nod, Lyla pushed through the warriors searching until she spied the familiar face, contorted in pain, and fanned by dark wavy hair. 

“Thorin!” 

The dwarf in question, guarded by the sword a few of Dain’s warriors, blinked at the hobbit once, confusion written on his face.

And then he frowned.

“You should not be here, hobbit,” He murmured, his voice laced with pain. Lyla could see blood seeping through his clothing and running down his cheek from the, “You need to  
go.”

Lyla’s eyes narrowed at the dwarf as she watched him try to rise, “And here I was worried that you were hurt.” She muttered, kneeling next to him. Her heart fluttered in relief as she gazed into his wonderfully blue eyes.

Even if they were narrowed into a fierce glare. 

“You should not be here. You have no place here,” Thorin snapped and then groaned as he sat up, “You need to get out of here.”

“I will not.”

“Stubborn, foolish creature,” He pushed her hands away as he slowly rose to his feet, reaching for his sword in the process, “I do not need you here.”

The relief she felt at seeing Thorin rise was tempered by a pain in her chest that she couldn’t seem to assuage. 

“Nevertheless,” She murmured, not meeting the dwarf’s gaze, “I am here.”

“There is nothing you can say that will make me want you near me again, Halfling,” Thorin snarled, his eyes narrowed and glittering, “Do not forget that promise that I made to  
you.”

“Kili!” Fili shouted.

Lyla turned to find the blonde dwarf rising slowly to his feet as he watched his brother stand up against Bolg.

Kili let out a low groan as he was tossed backwards, his bow sailing out of his hands as he crashed on the rocks, Bolg snarling after him. Dwalin, who had been forced back by orcs and goblins, let out a fierce howl and shoved his way through the enemy, his hammer making short work of many in his path. 

He aimed for Bolg who stood grinning, his jagged, black teeth catching Lyla’s eye. 

Everything about this creature spoke of decay and death. 

It was a sobering sight. 

“For Mahal’s sake!” Thorin thundered, “Move Halfling!” 

With a hard shove, Lyla was knocked backwards as an orc’s axe slashed through the space that her throat had been only a moment before. 

She’d been distracted.

Thorin met the creature’s strike with his own and forced the orc backwards, sliding through the mud. 

“Get out of here!” he growled back at the hobbit, never taking his eyes off of his sparring partner, “You are not welcome here and I do not have time to care for one so incompetent in battle as you.”

“Thorin you have to listen to me,” She muttered, taking a step towards the dwarf king. “You cannot kill Bolg. He’s—“

“Get this woman out of here! Now!” Thorin bellowed towards Dain’s guards, as he continued to block blows from the orc that had tried to kill Lyla only a moment ago.

Lyla scrambled to her feet, pushing away from Thorin and the guards that were trying to make their way towards the hobbit. 

But the enemy was preventing them from reaching Lyla, for which she was somewhat thankful.

It did, however, mean that she was exposed to the onslaught of the enemy as well. 

‘He does not want you,’ The hissing voice murmured softly, maliciously, ‘He has cast you aside. You need not stay here.’ 

Lyla tightened her grip on her little stinging elvish blade as a beast came at her, this one a goblin with a rather nasty looking knife. The hobbit watched the creature’s footing, noting how unsteady it look and the way the goblin led with his right foot. 

So as the goblin came upon her, Lyla dodged to her left and brought her sword upwards with a quick swipe, catching the surprised creature in the shoulder and torso. Warm, sticky black blood splattered her face, mixing in with the rainwater and sliding easily down the smooth metal of her blade as the goblin’s eyes went wide, his limbs weakening. 

The creature cast the hobbit a surprised look as it crumpled into the mud with a small splash. 

She brought up her sword again as another goblin charged her, this one bigger than the last, with a much larger weapon in hand. 

The axe came up, meeting Lyla’s blade as the two pressed their weight into their stances. 

Lyla was determined to hold on. 

“I.” She panted, “Am. Not. Going. Anywhere.”

With a growl of annoyance, Lyla leapt towards the goblin as she still clung to fending off the creature’s axe. Her small leap pushed the goblin back far enough for Lyla to bring her sword down and connect with the goblin’s arm, the elvish metal sending howls of agony through the goblin’s body as his hand fell to the ground with a sound thump.  
Lyla’s stomach rolled at the sight and the pain she had inflicted. Dropping his axe, the goblin scrambled backwards, eyes alight with pain and horror as he clutched his wrist, trying to stem the blood. 

‘You are a fool,’ the voice hummed in her ear, making Lyla wince in pain. ‘You will die a fool.’

Lyla chanced a glance back towards Thorin and the others, noting that they had been separated. Dwalin was engaged in battle against several orcs and goblins while Kili had managed to ally himself with one of the other guards, firing arrows into the oncoming attacks. Thorin was nearest to Fili as the two of them fought off Bolg’s advances.

Lyla watched, almost enraptured at the grace that the king under the mountain exuded as he maneuvered through battle. His footing was light, sure and simple. His movements were fluid and graceful.

And then she heard something.

A familiar, foul voice on the air. 

A dark, low hum of language, that Lyla couldn’t decipher, hung in the air. The sky seemed to grow darker, the rain fell harder and the orc Bolg let out a loud howl of fury and swung his mace at Fili.

Fili who was unprepared for the attack.

The large, silver, spiked mace connected with dwarvish armor.

But it wasn’t Fili who was hit.

It was Thorin. 

Fili let out a startled groan, his eyes going wide as he dropped his sword, the weapon slipping slowly from his fingers as he was shoved backwards by the king under the mountain.

Lyla’s heart stopped. 

The world seemed to slow down, the noises seemed to blend together and her vision became far too clear, far too bright. 

She watched as the dwarf staggered backwards from the blow, his hand coming to rest against his chest as slowly slumped to his knees.

Lyla couldn’t breathe.

But her feet were moving.

She watched the king under the mountain pull his hand away from his chest and gaze down at the crimson that stained his palm. 

Aule no. 

“Thorin!” 

“To the king!” 

Bodies pressed around her, dwarf and elf and man alike rushed forward to drive the enemy back. 

But Lyla fought her way through the crowd, shoving and slashing at anyone who tried to stop her. 

She saw Fili rise to his feet in time to meet Bolg’s swing, protecting Thorin from another blow. 

And then Kili and Dwalin were there, firing arrows and launching attacks. 

Lyla even glimpsed Thranduil, king of Mirkwood charging forward, his deft movements easily dispatching the enemy. 

But none of that mattered as Lyla fought to get closer to Thorin.

None of it mattered if he…

‘Stop Lyla.’

With sword drawn and fury billowing, Lyla thrust the ring on her finger once more.

She was greeted with the chuckling shadow figure as it stood nearest Bolg, who was snarling and beating against Fili and Dwalin.

‘I told you that they were slated to die. You cannot kill my army. You cannot kill one already dead.’

“I don’t care.” Lyla snarled, rushing forward, sword drawn, “I’ll try anyway.”

Ducking to avoid the orc’s swing, Lyla brought her sword forward with a sweeping motion, hacking at Bolg’s unprotected shins. 

The creature flinched but seemed unperturbed by the attack on his person.

Lyla didn’t stop. 

Instead, she brought her sword upwards and embedded the blade into the arm nearest the elbow, forcing another flinch from the creature. 

Bolg halted his movements for a moment. 

And in that moment Lyla knew that she could do something. 

Twisting around, even as the shadow figure continued to laugh at her, the hissing voice making her ears tingle, Lyla grabbed onto the orc’s armor plating across the back.  
Rounded edges that protruded from the metal (and felt suspiciously like bone)helped Lyla hoist herself onto the orc’s back until she could easily bring her sword down upon the creature’s shoulders and neck. 

She jabbed and sliced at any visible piece of flesh she could find. 

And while it didn’t kill Bolg, it distracted him long enough to ease the attack on her friends. 

“I will not let you harm them anymore,” she hissed at the orc, driving her blade into the creature’s shoulder once more. 

The hissing laughter stopped. 

And in its place the low, unrecognizable chanting that she’d heard before grew louder. 

Lightning danced through the sky as Bolg’s arm came around his back and he squeezed one of Lyla’s shoulders, pulling the hobbit forcefully from her perch. 

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the invisible hobbit to the ground, and aimed his mace once more upon Fili and Dwalin who were protecting the king. 

But Lyla was on her feet and charging forward. 

Until a great blast of light cascaded around her, the force of the explosion knocking most warriors off their feet. 

Lyla was rocketed backwards and found herself staring at the sky. 

“Si a hlare omarquettar. Na coilerya en-vinyantaa. Si a hlare omaquettar. No coilerya en-vinyanta. “

Lyla could hear the hissing cries of fury from the shadow specter as Gandalf’s words repeated, the light glowing in the sky. 

Her hand burned, the sensation travelling up her arm and to her shoulder, making the hobbit gasp in pain and she slowly rolled to a sitting position. 

She caught sight of Bolg, his movements having stilled as the shadow near him seemed to flicker and wane. 

‘Fool.’ She heard the hissing voice mutter in her ear, ‘You will die for this.’

But as Gandalf continued to chant the words,the hobbit found it a bit easier to move while under the power of the ring. She marveled at how many orcs and goblins had fallen were remaining sprawled upon the muddy earth.

And she noted the way Bolg’s movements were becoming sluggish and unsteady. 

“To the king!” She heard the cry rise up again and scrambled out of the way as Dwalin led the attack against Bolg. 

He blocked the orc’s strike with his hammer and then brought his weapon around and connected a solid hit with the orc’s arm.

This time Bolg let out a cry of pain as he dropped his weapon in surprise. 

He snarled something at Dwalin and made to advance again.

But Kili was waiting for him this time. 

An arrow sailed through the sky and notched itself into Bolg’s calf, making the orc howl in agony. 

And then it was Lyla’s turn. 

Still hidden by the power of the ring, Lyla slunk forward and took a swipe, once more, on giant’s calves, sending Bolg to his knees. With another shift of her sword, the hobbit brought the blade upwards and towards the creature’s hand.

The hand that easily came off.

Bolg’s enraged and pained cries filled the air and he took a step back.

But not before he connected a hit with his mace against the invisible hobbit who had dared to strike him. 

‘I control everything,’ the familiar hissed as Lyla went tumbling backwards, side stinging, ‘I can still control him.’

Even as the figure hissed those words, Ganalf’s chant (or whatever it is one might call it.) repeated again as another brilliant light illuminated the sky. 

It was Fili who stepped towards the orc, his face contorted into cold, unforgiving rage.

The heir to Erebor raised his sword and blocked a weak blow from Bolg, before bringing his blade around to catch the orc’s exposed neck.

Bolg’s eyes widened as he spluttered and gasped for air, his snarls of fury turning into weakening cries of pain. Life slowly seeped out of him as Fili stood tall.

The specter rushed at Lyla, hissing lowly and dangerously.

‘You fool. You think that this will save them? Any of them?’ he growled, his arm outstretched as though he was reaching for Lyla’s neck. Instead of feeling the pressure of fingers,  
Lyla felt a bone-chilling cold settle in her veins. 

It almost felt hard to breathe.

‘Your wizard will not spare you from what is to come.’ 

The shadow passed through Lyla and the burning sensation returned, forcing a cry from the hobbit as she clutched her hand around her stomach, willing the pain to ease.

The shadowed figure did not reappear.

Instead, chaos erupted. Dwarves and men and elves came together and pushed the remaining orcs and goblins back, their cries to protect the king rising high and loud and clearly.  
And then, a loud familiar snarl tickled Lyla’s ears and she turned, with a surprised and amazed stare at the towering form of Beorn, knocking orcs and goblins from their feet as he charged the giant, pale orc. 

But it was what was behind Beorn’s advancements that had Lyla’s eyes alight in wonder and appreciation.

She heard the loud, piercing cries of the eagles as they soared high overhead, their calls drowning out the snarls of the enemy. 

“The eagles have come!” She remarked delightedly.

The tides had been turned.

Lyla shifted back, away from the ensuing battle as she tried to get to Thorin. 

Her thoughts were racing, heart hammering in her chest, and arms shaking. She felt a sudden wave of dizziness overtake her and her footing became unsteady.

She had to get to Thorin.

She had to make sure he was alright. 

Shaking her head, the hobbit cleared her vision long enough to bring her sword up and catch an orc unaware as he was charging straight towards her. 

She caught the shrieking beast in the belly, her blade making quick work of the soft flesh hidden beneath the armor it wore.  
However, she didn’t anticipate the hammer the orc carried. 

And she certainly did not anticipate the hammer connecting with her skull.

Lyla was unconscious before she even hit the ground, her weapon falling from her grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright then...
> 
> What say you to that chapter? honestly I'm really nervous to see how you'll react to everything. It was a doozy to write. But I hope that you enjoyed it. Like I said, I'm rubbish at writing battle scenes.
> 
> But it's done. 
> 
> And if you are interested, take a gander at these lovely artists: 
> 
> Chappysmom:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> Kookookarli:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> and 
> 
> Luckyhai5:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


	66. Deserving and Undeserving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the battle is messy. 
> 
> Music: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/j0JiEglvJic
> 
> http://youtu.be/sXzDu071RdQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, dear readers, that it has taken me so long to get this chapter out! Real life has been crazy busy. But I promise that I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. I've been writing, honest. And I've rewritten this chapter several times, actually. Hopefully this version makes sense and you enjoy it!

‘Go’ the voice hissed lowly, ‘Go and drive them back. Silence the spy. ’

With a loud shriek, the beast reared backwards before charging, wings flapping, into the sky.

The hooded figure tightened his grip on the reigns, his iron clad hands clinking against the beast’s hard scales.

*****  


“Drive ‘em back!” Dwalin’s command rang through the air as Bolg’s form slumped forward, his weapon dropping from his hands as life’s blood finally seeped into the mud. He watched the enemy, left standing after the wizard’s words, reel backwards as many of their comrades fell, stumbling and shirking away from the onslaught of dwarves and elves and men.

And eagles.

Dwalin was surprised that so many had fallen at the wizard’s words, and he wondered WHY, though he didn’t have time to dwell on that fact.

He’d ask the wizard later. That was a certainty 

For now, they needed to assure their enemy that they would NOT be defeated. The line of Durin, the dwarves of Erebor WOULD stand, they WOULD fight. The elves and men and the grey wizard, they’d all drive them back. 

As Dwalin charged forward, he recognized the familiar, hulking form of Beorn reaching Thorin and Kili and Fili and he knew that they would be well taken care of. He trusted the bear and those eagles far more than he trusted his enemy, that was for certain. And it was no doubt that these creatures came and behest of their wizard friend. 

And knowing that Thorin and his nephews were looked after was a comfort to the dwarf. Now he could focus on the battle at hand. 

However, in the back of his thoughts, a dark fear grew ever larger in his brain. 

He wondered where the lass had disappeared to. The tiny, stubborn little mess of clumsy limbs, and poor swordsmanship with a determined frown and the courage that rivaled the most battle-hardened warrior was nowhere within his field of vision

With a sharp pain, Dis’ face flashed in his mind’s eye and he cast his eyes about, searching for Lyla once more.

He wondered where his hobbit was. 

*****

Fili didn’t realize how much his chest hurt, how much his arms stung, and how much his muscles ached.

It was many hours after the battle had ceased that these thoughts came to the forefront of his mind. 

After he watched Bolg, the giant Gundabad orc succumb to his injuries, after driving the rest of the orcs and goblins still standing back, rallying the troops and pulling together to fight. Turning back as the enemy retreated and seeing his brother stumbling to his knees near their uncle, seeing the injuries both of them bore. 

Shouting for aid for their king and his brother.

Watching Dwalin take over the command as he and Kili and Thorin were guarded by Beorn, the giant bear fending off the onslaught of unsavory creatures. 

Watching his uncle being carried away as the eagles finished off the stragglers, finally putting an end to the whole, ugly affair of battle. 

Discussing the need for provisions with Dwalin, knowing that his uncle would be in no shape to issue such orders and knowing that HE, the inexperienced heir, would be called upon to lead the people for a time. 

It was only after being assured, by Oin, that Kili would make a full recovery and that Thorin was resting—severely injured, but resting—that he finally took stock of his own injuries.  
And his thoughts. 

As the elderly physician wrapped his wrist and chest, Fili let his mind wander.

He worried about his uncle. The injuries the king sustained were severe. Things could turn for good or ill. Thorin’s life stood on the edge of a knife and Fili’s heart seemed to shrink in on itself as the painful thought of loss assaulted him.

He worried about his ability to take care of the affairs of the kingdom. He wondered if he was making the right decisions in regards to trusting the elves and men. He was grateful for their help, during the this strenuous and dangerous time. They certainly couldn’t have survived without the assistance of the elves. But, if Thorin made a fully recovery, would he see it the way Fili did? 

Or would the madness still have consumed his senses?

And as Fili’s thoughts drifted back towards the present, his ears picking up the last remaining noises of battle as they pushed the enemy further and further back, ensuring that their dominance would not be questioned. The heir stared down into the camp outside of Erebor, and it was here that Fili’s attention turned towards a little hobbit.

A missing hobbit. One who might be injured or—

The thought of that sent a crushing weight upon his chest, making it difficult to draw breath. He should be out there searching for her. Mahal knew that he WANTED to be. Dwalin and Bofur and the others too. 

She was his sister. He’d told her as much. He’d promised…

However, with the chaos of battle, he was bombarded with questions and requests from Dain’s soldiers, inquiries from Elvish captains and Bard’s men as well. They had to plan, strategize in case the enemy regrouped and returned. And, with winter coming quickly, they needed to assess their needs and plan to provide for their people. 

The good these discussions brought all the people under his temporary rule, did not ease the guilt he felt over being confined to the mountain. Somehow he felt as though her were betraying Lyla Baggins, after all she had done. 

And Dwalin, he was certain, was faring no better. After all the warrior had been through, especially with his mother.

Fili narrowed his eyes and drew himself up, grateful for a moment of quiet, to gather his thoughts. His thoughts were racing, tentative plans forming. 

He’d have to be careful and crafty. 

He needed to find a way out of the mountain to search for his hobbit.

*****  
Gandalf felt frustration, confusion, and worry.

He was frustrated with the dwarves. Or, rather, one in particular. Thorin Oakenshield had descended into madness, nearly toppling his newly restored kingdom. And now, the blasted dwarf’s life hung on a thread. 

“Of all the foolish creatures…” he muttered darkly to himself, hoping that despite the fact that Thorin was as stubborn and daft as they came, that he would mend and this  
mountain and these people could heal.

He felt confusion about many things, in particular, at the battle itself. 

The war had been gruesome. Though, all wars were. It was nothing new for him to behold.

No, what confused him immensely was Balin’s insistence that Lyla knew that Bolg could not be killed. Something was protecting the giant, imposing orc; something dark had latched onto the creature, preserving its life, a life (he learned from Dwalin) that had already ended in Moria those many years ago.

Gandalf had been suspicious, and when he’d concentrated, really focused his thoughts on deciphering the feelings surrounding the orc leader, he was jolted with a familiar presence.

An evil presence. One that he’d felt in Dol Guldur. One that he thought he’d driven out. 

The Necromancer.

Pieces started to slip into place and the seemingly unconnected events of this journey (and the history of Thorin Oakenshield’s past) came together into a web, interconnected and orchestrated by one creature. 

But how had she known? How had Lyla Baggins come to know such information? 

And more importantly, how had her presence here, on this journey, affected the outcome? How might things have gone if she were not involved?  
The thoughts plagued him and the suspicions that had been growing in his mind already, festered and blossomed into questions. 

Questions that needed to be answered. 

Above all, however, he was worried. They’d not found the hobbit yet and Gandalf the Grey was worried, worried for what he might discover when Lyla was located. Worried for her, and worried for the knowledge she held and how it might influence the fortunes of them all. 

“Where is our hobbit?” He murmured gazing out into the battlefield, narrowing his eyes, as the rain continued to fall heavily, obscuring his vision. He knew that many of the dwarvish company and the elvish guards were out searching for the injured and searching for Lyla.

“Where is our hobbit?”

*****

‘You need to wake up Lyla’

The hobbit’s lashes started to flutter. The growing tingle in her muscles became more apparent. She could feel the dull throbbing in her head and a numbness in her arm starting to grow. 

‘Dear one, you need to wake up.’

The black, hazy fog covering her mind slowly started to release its grip.

Lyla recognized that voice.

She’d always recognize that voice.

But…

It didn’t make sense. 

That voice…

‘Come now, you need to get up my darling. You must get up. No more dawdling. There are things to be done.’

Mother. 

With great effort, Lyla forced her weary eyes to open, daring and hoping beyond rationality that she would indeed see…

Carefully the hobbit lifted her head from the ground.

She was back in the forests of East Farthing, the sun was filtering through the rich and leafy trees overhead. The faintest sounds of birdsong echoed in the wide, bright space. 

And there, standing before her, smile bright, blue eyes blazing with cheer, was her mother. 

Her mother… 

With her long chestnut curls and freckled nose, hands on her hips, and a gentle spread across her face, Lyla Baggins’ mother she stared down at her daughter.

Yet, despite the sunshine-filled surroundings and the smiling visage of her mother, Lyla felt oddly numb. 

She had to be dreaming. 

Most certainly dreaming.  
Aule what was going on?

Belladonna Took Baggins, looking very much the same as she ever did in Lyla’s mind’s eye, stretched forth her hand, beckoning her daughter to rise.  
And yet, something seemed to hold her in place. She didn’t feel as though she could move. 

Nor, did she want to. With a great pang in her chest, Lyla stared at her mother, memorizing every detail of that face, committing it to memory. She wanted to reach out for her, to be wrapped in her mother’s warm embrace.

Even if this was just a dream…

‘Come now,’ the hobbit mother’s lips did not move, though her voice rang clearly in Lyla’s ears. ‘You cannot stay like this. They will need you , my flower. You must get up.’  
Lyla’s thoughts were moving at a snail’s pace.

They needed her? 

They…?

Thorin, Bofur, Dwalin…

The company.

“…gins!” the faintest of muffled shouts reached her ears.

‘You must get up, you must move.’ There was an urgency to her mother’s voice now a she furrowed her brows at her daughter. ‘Lyla, you must get up.’

But why? Staring up at her mother, seeing the sun highlighting each curl of her chestnut hair, seeing each little freckle and dimple, Lyla did not want to move.  
She just wanted her mother. 

‘They do not want me,’ She thought as Thorin’s face flashed through her mind, ‘He does not want me. It would be better if I stayed here.’

Part of her heart warmed at the thought.

The rest, though, ached with a deep sorrow.

‘You cannot remain,’ her mother took a step backwards, ‘Not now, little one. You must go to them.’

She had been on the journey, hadn’t she? They’d made it to Erebor—

Oh!

As soon as the thought came into sharp focus in her muddled mind, Lyla’s senses were assaulted with a numbing pain. The image of her mother began to fade, the bright, sunlit greenery giving way to the hazy desolation of a muddied battlefield. 

Lyla blinked and all traces of her mother were gone and longing grief filled her heart. 

She wanted her mother. Aule, she just wanted her mother.

But, it was not to be. One could not reside with a dream, no matter how desperately they wished it.

Lyla became keenly aware of the way her head throbbed and the fact that she was lying on the muddied battlefield—distorted by the ring’s influence on her vision—as rain pounded on her head and back. And she was even more aware of the way her arm tingled numbly her hand aching as though it had been burned. 

She didn’t remember why though. Her thoughts were jumbled. She remembered the orc coming at her, and she spied his hammer nearby (which certainly explained her headache).

She remembered…

A shadow?

Laughter.

“…Baggins!” 

Someone was calling her name, though Lyla couldn’t decipher who. He ears felt as though someone had shoved cotton in them. Her body felt heavy, tired.

She felt her eyes slipping closed again. 

Sleep, yes sleep would be a most blessed thing.

‘Lyla Baggins, do not close your eyes!’ She heard her mother’s reprimand, sharp and commanding.

With great effort Lyla blinked a few times trying to clear her vision as it swayed like water. She felt the tug of drowsiness pulling on her again, dulling her senses, as the soft, malicious echo of laughter buzzed faintly in her ears. 

She needed to move.

‘On your feet then,’ She thought, ‘Come on, Lyla, up you get.’

Tiredly Lyla kicked her legs into the soft earth and brought her arms in front of her to push herself up.

Her left arm buckled beneath her weight as she tried to rise. A dull burning sensation seared her muscles rising to her shoulder. Darkness pressed into the corner of her vision, threatening to overtake her completely. 

‘Up, Lyla,’ Her mother’s voice whispered in her ear, ‘You must get up.’ 

Lyla flexed her fingers and tried to shove herself upwards again. 

She let out a low groan as her head sank back to the ground, her arm crumbling beneath her as the mud clung to her wet curls.

That familiar laughter that she’d come to despise grew in volume. 

‘You cannot escape me. I see you. I see everything. And I will get what is mine.’

In the distance a low screech soared through the air, making Lyla tense, the muscles in her arm burning with an agonizing ferocity as her mind whirled into a panic.

‘You must get up dear heart.’ Her mother’s voice battled against the sickening laughter. ‘You must fight. Move. Darling you must move.’

With her heart pounding in her ears, Lyla pushed herself upwards, forcing her shaking knees into a crouch as she slowly stumbled to her feet. 

Her knees threatened to buckle as dizziness and an aching pain assaulted her senses.

‘Just keep moving.’ Her mother’s gentle command wrapped around her, ‘One foot in front of the other. Slow and easy.’

“Mistress Baggins!” 

That call was clearer this time, closer.

She recognized that voice.

“Tauriel,” she murmured, her voice a hoarse whisper. She kicked her legs, trying to gain traction, pushing past a dead orc as she tried to stay upright and move forward, “Tauriel!”

“Mistress Baggins!” the elf warrior’s voice was growing in volume and Lyla squinted to search for the tall, lithe creature. 

Her vision, however, was cloudy, muzzy, and hazy. She could barely make out the faintest of shadows and shapes in the through the rain and darkened skies. 

Lyla slipped, her knees squelching into the soft earth, her arm giving way as she tried to steady herself. 

She let out a groan of pain as her head drooped against the ground, the scent of rainwater and the foul stench of rot filling her nostrils. She felt weak and unbearably pathetic. 

‘Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.’

*****

“I believe you are aware that you have no incentive to keep your knowledge a secret any longer,” Thranduil’s dulcet tones pervaded the air between himself and the shackled former master of Laketown. 

The elf, still bearing his armor, paced near the man, eying his surroundings thoughtfully and purposely avoiding gazing at the pathetic man he was speaking to. 

Best not to give him hope when there was none to be had. 

Thranduil held no sympathy for the undeserving. 

As the silence stretched on, Thranduil raised a brow in questioning and shot the man a frown.

“You gain nothing by your silence. Your sentence will remain the same. I cannot alter the will of the people you have so vilely offended,” Thranduil turned his gaze towards the camp, “But you would do well not to hinder us further.”

“I gain nothing by helping you,” The former master finally muttered, weariness and suspicion tempering his tongue, “There is no incentive to divulge my secrets either.”

“Dragon fire and ruin,” Bard the Bowman hissed stepping forward, “That is what you’ve brought upon us! You cannot see beyond your own desires and now your people suffer for it. Do you not care at all what you have done? Are you so consumed with your desire for power that you will overlook the losses we’ve sustained?”

Thranduil gazed on, with a detached curiosity, as the former master of Laketown turned his attention towards Bard, eyes narrowed and scowl present. 

“Vagrants, thieves and beggars,” the chained man hissed, “nothing but a waste of good food and housing. They brought nothing of value to the town. And neither did you or my sniveling sister.”

Bard released a snarl as he advanced on the man, his fury rolling off him like waves of the ocean, crashing and battering against Thranduil’s senses.

“Master Bard,” he murmured softly, halting Bard’s movement, “It would be better for your people to handle this…creature…do not you think? They certainly deserve compensation for their suffering and he’s the perfect sacrifice.”

The former master snorted and smirked, “You think that I am not protected?” he snapped, haughtily, “that I do not have allies coming to my aid? They will protect me. Their power will shield me and then you, and your…rabble…with feel the wrath of one far more respectable and powerful than you!”

“Tell me, then,” Thranduil remarked carefully, keeping his tone neutral, disdainful, “Why would your allies come to the aid of one being guarded by dwarves and elves and men. A small unruly group of warriors, barely worth the effort to fight. Surely your ‘protector’ cares nothing for jewels or treasure. It is power he seeks, is it not.” 

He turned and raised a brow at the man, watching how the prisoner’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Thranduil only nodded, “Yes, power. That must be it. And if that is the case, then he would be far better searching for power elsewhere. We are nothing, a small group of kingdoms barely formed. Our resources are small, our people are weak at your hand. We have nothing of value to this power-seeker might want, which means that he has no reason to search for one such as you. Your life offers him nothing.”

“That’s not true!” The man’s chin wobbled as he tried to rise, indignation apparent in his tone, “I have only ever served him, been faithful to him and assured him power here!”

“And now it would appear that your usefulness has failed. You did not succeed in overtaking the mountain, nor expelling Thorin Oakenshield from his throne. The dragon was defeated with the help of a hobbit,” Thranduil carefully adjusted the strap that held his scabbard to his person. “You have failed, why would they need you now?”

“There is still so much more to be accomplished!” The former master was almost earnest now, trying—it appeared—to reassure himself of his usefulness. “He was keenly interested in the mountain, in the treasure. He sought—“

The man’s eyes widened and his mouth clamped shut.

Then his gaze narrowed as his face contorted into a look of fury. 

“You!” He snarled at the elf king, “You tricked me!”

“An easy thing to do, I assure you,” Thranduil dismissed the man’s rage, easily, with the wave of his hand, “You are hardly what one might call intelligent on such matters. Though you have been most helpful, I can safely assume that you will no longer be of assistance?”

The elf was aware of Bard’s gaze shifting between himself and the man 

“I would never help the likes of you! You are a parasite, filth, a hindrance to the one who deserves the rule over all others.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the round, nervous man before him. 

“You should become acquainted with the knowledge,” Thranduil remarked coldly, taking a step forward, “that you are not so important that Sauron the deceiver would find another puppet to control.”

Thranduil turned quickly on his heel and began to march back towards the main tent within their campsite. 

Giving a firm nod to Beorn, Thranduil knew that the prisoner would remain well guarded. 

A changeling such as Beorn, Thranduil knew, was not to be trifled with. He only wondered if the former master of Laketown understood that.

Not that it truly mattered to the elf. 

He had more important matters to attend to.

He needed to speak with the wizard. 

*****

“Mistress Baggins!” The call came again and Lyla was certain that the elf was nearer than she had been before, giving the hobbit hope that she was moving in the right direction. 

‘The ring’ she acknowledged, trying to raise hand to remove the golden object, ‘She can’t see me with it on.’

But Lyla’s arms were having a hard time moving. She felt so…

Tired. 

So utterly, unnaturally exhausted. 

Warning bells sounded in her head and fear tickled her brain as pain wrapped around her arm like a vice, a heavy depression falling over her like a weight.

The same laughter, dark and foreboding, echoed in her ears and the throbbing pain intensified as she struggled to move her arms and lift herself off the ground. 

‘You will die alone and forgotten,’ that sinister, haunting voice taunted her, ‘invisible and forgotten.’

‘Up, Lyla, up. Come on,’ She chanted, pushing the doubt and despair she felt aside—or trying to—and willing herself to move.

‘Don’t give up darling,’ her mother’s voice echoed in her ears, ‘Fight.’

Steadying her breathing and putting all her strength into moving her arm, Lyla slowly rolled her shoulder until her right hand slid nearer to her left. Slowly, and carefully, she reached for her throbbing left arm and grabbed the offensive, heavy golden band, tugging the cool metal off her finger. 

A searing pain lanced through her shoulder and down to her fingertips as the ring slid—with great effort—from her hand.

She let out a low groan of pain and tried to force the tears to abate as she slipped the ring into her pocket, ignoring the way it seemed to hum in her hand. 

The world came into sharp focus, colors and shapes more clearly defined. The sensation of the rainfall upon her cheeks was bitterly cold 

And the tears she’d been holding back started to fall as the pain in her shoulder and arm intensified. 

“Tauriel,” She breathed again, hoping the elf would hear her weak call. She didn’t think she could make her voice any louder.

“Mistress Baggins!” The world seemed to come into sharp, agonizing focus as Tauriel’s voice rang in her ears, making her wince.

Indeed she had heard the hobbit. Thank Aule for that.

But, so too, did another creature. 

This one very near to the hobbit. 

A goblin, struggling and snarling, heard Lyla’s soft cry and was making its way towards her. And though Lyla wanted to move back, she found that her limbs would not allow it.  
And she was without her sword. 

Dwalin would never forgive her for that mistake.

Lyla could hear soft footfalls splashing through the muddied earth as the goblin advanced on her, thin, gangly arm raised and prepared to strike the hobbit with a jagged blade.

Something whizzed through the air, Lyla’s sensitive ears detecting the noise, and the goblin was falling, mouth open in a silent scream as the knife dropped from its grasp, both splashing into the mud next to the struggling hobbit. 

And then, brilliant red hair swam into view, framing the furrowed brows and frowning, assessing gaze of the elf warrior as she crouched near the hobbit. 

“Mistress Baggins,” she murmured quietly, eyes sweeping over Lyla’s form carefully, “We have been searching quite some time to find you.”

Lyla let out a low, almost bitter laugh. She could do no more than that. Her head ached and her arm burned, the drowsiness she felt continuing to beckon her to sleep. 

Gently the elf reached towards the hobbit’s head and ran her hand through Lyla’s muddied, tangled and damp curls, twisting her fingers towards the back of Lyla’s scalp. 

When the elf drew her hand back, fingertips stained a bright red, the frown upon her face deepened.

“You are injured,” It wasn’t a question. She rolled Lyla to her back, cradling the hobbit’s head from touching the muddied filth beneath her. 

“I’ll be fine,” Lyla murmured tiredly, “I AM fine. I just…” 

She trailed off, trying to clear her thoughts. 

She was fine. 

Tauriel’s eyes narrowed further and she tilted her head to gaze carefully at the hobbit, her hand slipping to grasp Lyla’s shoulder before jerking backwards as her frown deepened.  
But, ever gentle, the elf helped Lyla into a sitting position.

Lyla’s arm shuddered at the movement, the searing pain working up her arm and making her wince. She bit back a gasp and tried not to squirm out of Tauriel’s hold.

“I am sorry,” Tauriel remarked, apologetically, her eyes shining with remorse as she brought Lyla closer and cradled the hobbit in her arms. “I do not mean to cause you harm.”

“You have found her,” Legolas’ voice was a comfort to Lyla’s ears and a small smile worked its way on her face as the blonde elf prince came closer and peered at the hobbit. 

He wore a matching frown to that of his companion as he stared down at Lyla, eyes sweeping over her face and down her neck, coming to rest on her shoulder. 

“Still attracting all manner of trouble?” Legolas’ voice was light, but Lyla could hear the stress laced beneath the joviality as the last cries of battle echoed around them.

“Will you ever stop saying that?” Lyla remarked lowly as she tried, with little success to move from Tauriel’s arms and stand on her own. 

Legolas steadied the hobbit and pulled her protesting form into his own arms as he straightened, “Indeed, I shall rescind the comment as soon as it fails to be true.” 

The elf stilled for a moment watching the hobbit thoughtfully.

“You have many looking for you, searching. A few dwarves in particular are most anxious after your welfare. First, we must get you to my father,” He murmured 

softly, “Something…” Legolas seemed to hesitate a moment before shaking his head, “He will be able to help.”

Lyla, however, wasn’t too keen to listen. Her mind had latched onto the thought of her dwarves and worry clawed at her heart.

“Are, are they are alright?” She remarked quietly, biting back a hiss of pain, “Are the others…no one…Thorin? They are safe? They aren’t here are they? Aule he needed help…”  
Her thoughts started racing, dark murmurs of doubt ringing in her ears as she gazed at the elf expectantly, agitatedly. 

‘You have failed. It was all for naught.’

It couldn’t be, could it? Had she failed? Had nothing she done mattered?

A deep-seeded despair filled her mind and Lyla struggled to push the consuming weight of sorrow from her shoulders. 

If they all died…

Oh Aule she’d never forgive herself. 

“They are well, Mistress Baggins,” Legolas hummed quietly, giving her a quizzical look. “Your dwarves are well.”

“Thorin?” Lyla’s heart hammered in her chest as the dwarf king’s name fell from her lips.

Legolas hesitated a moment, eyes carefully hooded.

“He lives.” The elf finally conceded, “His injuries are severe and we do not know for certain if infection will take hold. But for now he lives and is safe within the mountain.”

‘He will not survive,’ the voice taunted and Lyla winced again as a sharp, stabbing pain shot through her arm. Her head pounded furiously and the despair deepened as her horrified doubts took hold, her exhausted mind incapable of fending off the vicious thoughts. 

He might not survive? 

Oh sweet Eru…

He might die. 

“No,” Lyla squirmed, ignoring the pain, as she tried to move form Legolas’ grip, “No that can’t happen. After…after everything. I can’t. I have to see him. I have to—“

“Not until after my father has seen you, Mistress Baggins,” Legolas’ voice was firm, brooking no argument. “And even then I cannot guarantee that you will be allowed into the mountain.”

What?

Lyla shook her head, even as her world swam, “I—I can’t go…? But you said that my friends were searching…”

“Yes,” Legolas murmured with a frown, “Your friends. However, Dain Ironfoot still prowls those halls and he would look for any excuse to attempt to use you as a barter. Your friends know this. Surely you do as well.”

“I don’t care,” she hissed, twisting her shoulder away from the elf’s firm grip, “I have to…I just—“ 

The last image she had of Thorin, cut like a knife, through her chest. She saw him, in her mind’s eye, slumped on the muddied battlefield, crimson life staining his fingers as he drew his hand away from his rent armor. 

Lyla could feel the panic growing in her. 

That couldn’t be the last image she had of him. She had to see him again. She had to try and do something to save him.

Anything.

“Please.” Her voice was hoarse, pained as she gazed up at Legolas, the raindrops blurring her eyes. “Please I-I have to see him. I couldn’t…please. We have to do something…anything to help him. Just...” 

“Lass!” 

Legolas stilled as another familiar voice called through the air. 

Lyla’s heart jumped into her throat as a wave of gratitude held the despair at bay. 

“Lass!” 

And then Bofur was there, his ever-familiar hat swimming into view as his kind brown eyes shining in obvious relief even as they narrowed in worry. 

“Ye’re certainly a stubborn one, goin’ off to do battle with naught but yer little blade and no protection.” He chastised half-heartedly and brought his forehead down to meet the hobbit’s, his large, mitted hands encasing hers. 

Lyla ignored the way her left hand tingled painfully.

“Had us right worried when we couldn’t find ye,” He murmured, his warm breath washing over the hobbit’s face as he pulled back, “And I’d wager that we’ll not be lettin’ ye out of our sight any time soon. Dwalin’s ‘specially in a fit about the whole thing.”

Lyla let out a low laugh, trying to keep the pain from her face as the prickling sensation shooting up her arm intensified. 

The screeching noise she’d been hearing seemed grow in volume.

She was just grateful, for the moment, to see a familiar face. 

“I—I’ve got nowhere to be at present,” her voice was strained.

And she was so tired. 

The screeching and the hissing murmurs made her head pound and her vision go fuzzy. Her chest felt tight, it was hard to draw breath. And a deepening fear and panic was washing over her. Something foreboding settled in the air. 

Lyla cast a worried glance about, searching for the offending shadow, or creature that held her thoughts in such a terrifying state. But there was nothing. She could find nothing. But…

Something drew near. 

She could feel it. 

“Lyla?”

The hobbit cast her glance back towards Bofur and noted the worry in the dwarf’s eyes deepening.

But Lyla could do nothing to reassure her friend. Her energy was leaving her, her thoughts clouding over and the dull pain escalating as sleep beckoned her to its halls. 

‘Do not fall asleep dear one,’ her mother’s voice murmured, 'not yet.'

But she was not certain she could fight off sleep any longer. Colors were beginning to blend together again, a loud roaring filled her ears.

And the hissing whispers grew ever stronger.

“Lass…” 

Her muscles felt weak.

Legolas tightened his grip on the hobbit’s stilling form as a sharp worry lanced his heart. 

“We must hurry,” he remarked in a hushed whisper, “She needs Elvish medicine.” 

*****

“It was not just about the dragon, Mithrandir,” Thranduil’s voice was low, thoughtful, “They were searching for something specific.”

The elf king watched the grey wizard with concealed interest, studying the way Gandalf’s brows furrowed as he stared at the tent flap.

“I had suspected as much,” He finally murmured, “The dragon would have been a useful tool, but ultimately it was not just a ploy to ensnare the power of a fire drake. But what…”  
The wizard trailed off, eyes narrowing as he fiddled with his pipe, his fingers running over the smoothed wood carefully. 

“And the line of Durin plays into this plot as well. Dol Guldur and now this battle. Someone does not wish to see that line succeed.”

“And your hobbit,” The elf remarked, “She knows something.”

Gandalf nodded, frowning, “Never in all my years would I have expected a hobbit to influence so many lives.”

Thranduil’s thoughts were conflicted concerning the hobbit and her knowledge. Familiar suspicion tempered his regard for the creature and he speculated that she might just be the reason for this whole convoluted mess.

“We must find her then.” 

“Ada!” 

The call was familiar. 

But not one he’d heard in a long while. 

The quiet desperation had the elf king hastening towards the door and out into the darkened skies, following the call of his son.

“Ada!”

Gandalf was close behind as he made his way to the outskirts of the row of tents they had raised and he stopped, surprised and worried at what greeted him. 

His son, flanked by the captain of his guard and several dwarves (many he recognized as members of the orginal company) were making their way towards the row of tents. His son’s pace was quick and firm, an obvious sign of his worry. 

Worry, Thranduil was certain, he felt for the small, still bundle in his arms. 

“Ada!” His son had spotted Thranduil and the convoy of guests were making their way towards the elf king. 

As Legolas drew near, Thranduil got a clear glimpse of the hobbit, bleary-eyed and wincing, nestled in the crook of his son’s arms. He noted the way her arms hung lowly and the way her eyes continually drifted closed.

“She’s been poisoned, Ada,” Legolas’ voice was soft, “Dark magic has taken hold of her. She is fading.”

“A fitting end to one so stupid and weak,” the shackled prisoner of Laketown hissed with a snort of amusement, “She will diminish and die.”

A swift kick from Bard silenced the man as the giant bear snarled and stepped closer to the, now cowering, man.

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in confusion, though his senses confirmed Legolas’ remarks. He stared down at the muddied curls, bruised cheeks and glassy eyes of the hobbit, her lips as pale as her face, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. 

What sparked his full attention, however, was her arm. Hidden beneath the filthy, billowing material of her tattered shirt Thranduil noted the purple tendrils snaking their way up  
the hobbits wrist, encircling her fingers and turning her porcelain skin a horrible, sickening shade.

He’d seen such markings before, many years ago and knew from whence they came. 

Before his own father—

Thranduil reached forth and gently laid a hand atop the small creature’s messy curls and murmured lowly, the Sindarin flowing easily from his lips. He watched the way the hobbit shuddered before her breathing deepened and her eyes slipped closed.

Thranduil’s gaze shifted back towards his son, questioning and imploring. 

But he could see that his son knew nothing, did not understand the perplexing nature of the hobbit’s injuries. 

How did she come by them, then? What has she seen?

Who had she come in contact with?

“Come,” he remarked slowly, gazing down at the hobbit, “We must get her inside.”

“Wait!” The call rang clearly, the anger was evident. “You cannot have her!”

*****

Thorin Oakenshield’s thoughts were humming as he slowly stepped forwards from the shadows. Hunched as he was, he didn’t think that he cut a very imposing visage against Thranduil and the others. 

He’d followed his nephew, watched from the wall as his heir slunk from the mountain, Dwalin close on his heels. 

He suspected where they were going. 

And when he saw the elf prince calling for his father, a small bundle in his arms, his suspicions were confirmed.

His movements were odd, strange as he leaned against the wall to steady himself. He felt a dizziness and a throbbing pain.

Despite the numbing pain, his mind felt clear, the haziness and doubt that had clouded his senses was lifting. The voice that had plagued his mind had become a dull whisper that he was learning to ignore.

But the anger he felt as he spotted the hobbit, brought the voice soaring into his ears, the memory of her betrayal rising fresh to his thoughts. 

Even as concern tempered them. 

He needed to speak to the hobbit. 

He needed to speak to Lyla. 

He shot a glare at Thranduil, “You cannot take her.”

It was Dwalin who stepped forward, “Ye should not be out here lad,” he remarked, all semblance of familiarity and friendliness, “And ye cannot take her.”

Thorin was a bit perplexed by Dwalin’s actions, though he could not claim complete surprise. 

“You cannot be serious,” He took a shaky step forward, ignoring the way his side tugged, the stitches Oin had placed, “I am your king. And she has stolen the arkenstone.”

“And if I recall correctly, King under the mountain,” Thranduil’s tone was low, clipped, “You banished this Shireling from your sights. She is no longer your concern. Should you desire to discuss the arkenstone you must do so with me and the new master of Laketown.” 

The faintest memory of his speech, his actions against the hobbit soured his anger, tempering his thoughts, and hushing the voice for a moment. 

He cast another glance down at the stilled hobbit and something painful shot through his chest, seeing her so still, unmoving.

Guilt warred with fury.

‘She is no longer your concern.’ 

“Thorin.” 

The faintest whisper struck him hard, silencing the humming, hissing voice completely.

Lyla. 

*****

She could hear his voice.

She could hear the anger in his voice. 

But it was the screeching noise that filled the air jolted Lyla back to wakefulness

And agonizing pain. 

Her arm burned. She felt as though her skin was on fire, it licked at her muscles, and raced through her bones. 

Lyla let out a pained cry and clutched her arm, willing and pleading for the pain to cease.

The screeching grew louder, the hissing murmurs in her ears were deafening. 

“Nazgul!” Someone cried. 

And chaos erupted around her.

Lyla opened her eyes blearily and was assaulted with colors and movement as Legolas tore through the camp, keeping a firm grip upon the hobbit. 

Until the beast descended. 

She could hear wood splintering, cries of surprise and pain surrounded her. And then she was falling, tossed through the air as Legolas’ grip loosened upon her. 

She landed roughly, coughing and spitting the mud that splattered in her mouth. 

Raising her head, she gazed around at the flurry of movement, struggling to get to her feet. 

And then she heard a cry. 

One that sent her blood running cold and pain lancing her arm. 

“Feast on his flesh.” 

Her head throbbed in pain and she let out a groan as she struggled to her feet. 

Another screeching cry nearly sent her to her knees again. But she held firm, held onto a thought. 

Held onto a desire to see his face again. 

The image that assaulted her, however, was one that sent her stumbling backwards, biting her lip to keep from screaming. 

A giant black beast, with a narrow, snake-like head and sharp serrated teeth flapped overhead, his long black wings, splashing rain into her face as he hovered low, nearly touching the ground. 

And atop the monstrosity, clad in all black and bearing a large silver helmet, a hooded figure sat. 

Lyla could hear the blood pounding in her ears as she stared, dumbstruck at the image before her. 

And then her stomach dropped to her toes as the large beast whipped its head around and snapped at the figure who sat, wide-eyed and immobile before the beast. 

The former master of Laketown, shackled and cornered, cowered before the beast, kicking his feet, trying to get away. His scraggly hair was plastered to his face, his chin was quivering.

“Please, I am but a servant of the dark one! I’ve never renounced his ways. I’ve only ever served him!” The man continued to try to back away from the beast.

But his chains kept him firmly in place. 

“Feast on your prey,” The voice echoed like a thundercloud and Lyla’s heart jerked violently as the beast turned its full attention to the cowering man.

She heard his horrified cry, cut short as the beast advanced upon the man, the sickening crunch of bone forcing Lyla to avert her eyes. 

“Mistress Baggins, we must move,” Thorin’s voice was in her ear as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. 

And Lyla could not have agreed more. 

‘Put the ring on,’ the familiar whisper tickled her ear, ‘Leave this all behind. You can avoid pain and death if you but listen.’

Lyla ignored the call of the ring in her pocket.

But the screeching echoed again as the beast and figure turned towards the hobbit and elf. When her eyes connected with the man’s cloaked face, Lyla’s arm ignited in pain,  
sending her into and agonized cry as her muscles seized upon her, her head ringing with the familiar hum of that same dark voice. She couldn’t see straight anymore and her head felt oddly detached from her body. 

Thorin, flanked by Dwalin Bofur and Legolas, tightened his grip on her, pulling Lyla nearer to his side.

“When I say run, we run,” he murmured low enough that only Lyla’s ears could hear the words. 

“Give up, king of Erebor,” the man hissed, “None shall come between the nazgul and its prey. You will fall.”

Lyla winced at the voice, her chest seizing at the words the creature spoke.

The thought of Thorin and the others…

No. She would not allow it. 

‘You are slated to die just like them. I will not show mercy to the undeserving,’ the voice whispered menacingly, ‘You’ve made your choice.’

“If you want me, come and claim me then!” Thorin hissed, taking a step back, pulling the hobbit with him.

The beast, hissed out a snarl of its own and twisted around, its tail catching tents and sending them soaring upwards and outwards, towards the others, forcing Thorin to jump to  
the side to avoid being hit. 

Another bit of material came hurtling towards Legolas, the elf twisting his body to the side to avoid the collision as he backed up a few more steps. 

Another wave of pain coursed through Lyla’s arm and she clenched her teeth together to keep her cry back. 

‘You will all die,’ the voice hummed serenely, ‘you will all taste my wrath. You cannot drive me away. My servants will always come for you.’

Thorin took a few more steps back as the nazgul charged forward, towards the pair. 

Lyla felt sick, her stomach rolling, her head aching as she willed herself to move, move her limbs, move her hands, anything. 

Anything to get Thorin out of the way, because he was all that mattered. He was all that counted.

‘Please,’ She pleaded raising her hands and ramming into the dwarf, knocking him backwards, off his feet. 

‘Please let me keep him safe.’

*****

Thorin’s arms went instinctively around the hobbit as they tumbled to the ground, the beast coming towards them. 

He let out a groan of pain as her weight pressed upon his injured side. 

The hobbit, however, was knocked from his grasp as the great flying monster snapped its tail upon Lyla and himself. The force of the hit connected with the dwarf’s arms, sending a shooting pain through his bone and propelled the hobbit out of his reach, splattering into the mud. 

But Beorn was there, his tall proud form coming to rest in front of the hobbit, snarls of fury escaping his long snout and his white teeth bared. 

Thorin tried to scramble backwards as the beast continued to press in upon him, ignoring the angered cries of his companions as they shot at him and hacked at his flesh with their weapons. But nothing would deter the beast who let out another screeching cry, flapping its wings and darting forward. 

A bright light suddenly exploded across the sky, forcing Thorin to cover his eyes and sending the beast backwards, the pulsing wing beats blasting water into Thorin’s face. 

“You shall not pass here, filth,” Gandalf’s voice carried, a hard biting tone that ripped through the air, “I shall not allow it.” 

Thorin squinted as the bright light intensified sending the creature screeching backwards further. 

“Go back to the shadows,” The grey wizard hissed, taking a step forward. Thorin noted the way his staff glowed brightly as he raised it and his sword upwards in challenge against the nazgul. 

“Tell your master I will not allow it!” 

Gandalf brought his staff downwards into the mud, the connection seeming to make the skies ignite with a brilliant white light that burned Thorin’s eyes. 

But he could not tear his gaze away. 

The nazgul let out a loud, roaring hiss as it fluttered backwards, away from the wizard and the elves, men and dwarves and were converged together. 

“I will return,” the hiss was clear, “I will return, wizard.”

“And we will be ready,” Gandalf snarled, taking a step forward, his staff losing none of its brilliance, driving the nazgul further back.

It wasn’t until the beast had disappeared that the wizard’s staff started to diminish in light. And Gandalf seemed to lean more heavily upon the wood, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he watched the sky and the retreating beast of darkness. 

But then…

“Lass!” 

Thorin’s head whipped around as he slowly rose to his feet.

He spied the soft form lying in the mud and the way that the giant bear stood over her, protecting her from any potential harm. 

And then he saw Dwalin, crouching near the still form and suddenly Thorin found it hard to breathe. 

Lyla Baggins was not moving. Her soft curls washed into the muddied ground as she lay, her arm outstretched, head tilted to the side. 

Thorin was moving closer as Dwalin’s cry of alarm sounded pierced his ears. 

“Lass.”

The rest of the company members converged upon the hobbit as Beorn leand his snout downward and nudged the hobbit’s face. 

She remained still. 

Thorin’s pace quickened. 

He ignored the pain in his side, the tearing of his stitches as he forced himself to move quicker, dread pulling at him. 

No. 

Mahal no. 

Carefully he approached his heart hammering heavily in his chest. His brows furrowed as he came to rest upon his knees, his hand reaching out to touch Lyla’s cheek. 

She didn’t move. 

Someone was crying out as he slowly lifted the hobbit into his arms. 

The image of her pushing him downward, protecting him from the onslaught, sent a deep seed of grief through his body as he held the still hobbit closer to his chest, cradling her head beneath his chin. 

After all he’d done. 

After all he’d said.

She still protected him. 

She still sacrificed for him. One so completely undeserving and selfish as he was. Lyla Baggins still set her desires aside to protect him. 

It took him a few moments to realize that the one crying out was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes I realize this is a rather crummy chapter! Sorry...*hides away* But your reviews are most certainly welcome and appreciated. 
> 
> And as always, please take a moment, if you are interested, and go investigate these authors because they are simply fantiastic! 
> 
> Kookookarli: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> Chappysmom: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> and Luckyhai5: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


	67. Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking aid and mending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's another chapter for you. I hope that it sounds relatively proper. It's been a rather long and tiring week for me so my writing time has been severely limited. And my review time as well...you KNOW who you are and I promise I will review your spectacular work soon. Honest. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope (truly HOPE) that you enjoy the chapter. 
> 
> Music:  
> http://youtu.be/sQ9NOV3KNpY  
> http://youtu.be/a6lbvoI0gM8  
> http://youtu.be/1utYZIeZvN4  
> http://youtu.be/XOykCYDMKBs  
> http://youtu.be/RBumgq5yVrA

The bird soared through the dark skies landing atop the highest perch of the tower. 

A loud cry escaped his dark beak as he waited, patiently, for his master to acknowledge him.

A long, pale hand reached forth and plucked the missive from the thin leg of the bird. 

He snorted when he read the scrawling words upon the parchment. 

‘The dragon will be defeated, and war will come. A hobbit travels with the dwarves and she carries something of power. I can sense it.’ 

He didn’t believe for a moment that The Master of Laketown was adept at understanding true power. 

Though…

A hobbit seemed to be all he was hearing of lately. 

His own master had mentioned this Halfling, protected by a company of dwarves. The same company who had rallied the elves and men against his army of warriors from the South and again against his master’s army of orcs and goblins. 

How was it possible?

This Halfling held the key to his master’s return?

‘She carries it. You must bring it to me.’ The voice was biting, harsh, and commanding in his ear. 

“Very well,” Saruman’s low voice echoed through the tower, his white visage cutting a stark contrast against the black marble, “I have work to do.”

*****

Very carefully, the king of Erebor ran his hand over the bruised and muddied cheek, wiping the filth from the pale skin, memorizing the way Lyla Baggins looked in this moment.  
Each freckle, the soft upturn of her nose and the way her hair stuck to her forehead and curled around her ears and the base of her neck.

“Thorin.”

He could feel the rainwater trickling down the back of his tunic. He could hear the way it pitter-pattered in the mud. He caught snatches of movement around him, the way that some of the company shifted their feet as they edged closer.

But, no matter what he did, he could not wake her. No whisper, nor gentle caress against her cheek would rouse those lashes to flutter. He’d never see those large eyes, that sparkled brighter than the richest emeralds, gazing back at him. 

“Thorin.” 

Gentle hands rested on his shoulder as he lowered his head and whispered into the hobbit’s hair, apologies that would never coax breath to enter her lungs, entice her heart to beat. 

She remained unmoving, her chest unnaturally still. 

A bitter taste filled his mouth and a hard, painful ache crushed his chest, making it hard to breathe. 

He wanted to tear his eyes away. 

Yet he found that he could not. 

“You fool of a hobbit,” he murmured roughly, nearly choking on his words, “You foolish, foolish creature. Why? After all that has happened, you’d still…after all that I did, all that I  
said, you still…”

He clutched Lyla closer to himself, regret and sorrow turning his stomach sour, making him wish that death had befallen him on the battlefield.

Not her. 

She deserved none of this. He was so wrong. So utterly wrong. 

He’d been wrong so many times on this journey. Each time she saved him, saved all of them, did something utterly brave and stupid to save the company on this journey. 

And he’d betrayed her again. He promised he’d protect her, that she’d never be alone…

But he cast her aside. And for what? 

A stone. 

“Laddie.” 

Balin was speaking to him, his voice gentle, soft. 

“No,” he replied, “No, you cannot have her.”

“Laddie,” Balin tried again, “You must. There’s nothin’ you can do now.”

“No. I will not,” Thorin remarked bringing his head lower, “I do not care what happens to me, I will not leave her.”

“Laddie, she wouldn’t want that.”

But Thorin refused to take his eyes away from the small being in his arms. Refused to accept that…

“She should be here, not me,” He replied, his words thick with emotion as the knowledge slammed against his composure, tearing at his heart. “She should have known that I cannot…without her I’m…” He couldn’t find the right words to convey the conflicted emotions coursing through him. 

“Master Oakenshield.” 

This time it was Thranduil who was speaking, his murmurs soft, but authoritative in nature as he stepped closer to the dwarf cradling his hobbit. “If I may?”

Thorin noticed the pale hand extending towards him and flinched backwards, tightening his hold on Lyla. 

“What do you want?” He tried to be fierce, but his question came out as a pained croak as he gazed up at the elf king. “The war is over. You have your prize and will receive your payment. Can you not see –“

“I do indeed see what is before me,” Thranduil remarked lowly, “And I come not in so callous a fashion as you accuse. I care not for the arkenstone nor payment. I see and have seen this stillness before. But, Thorin Oakenshield, she may yet be with us.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed as a spark of hope ignited in his chest. 

And yet suspicion tempered that hope. 

Elves…

He’d never trusted them. Not since they betrayed his people. 

“What mean ye then?” Dwalin’s gruff voice was beside him. Thorin could hear the unease in the warrior’s tone, “If this is some sort of trick on yer part then I’ll not stay my hand from that fair face of yers.” 

He could hear Dwalin’s movements as the dwarf adjusted his battle axe in his hands. 

“Laddie,” came Balin’s warning call, “Easy.” 

Thorin watched Thranduil’s eyes tighten and a small frown tug at his lips. 

But then the elf only nodded and turned back towards Thorin. 

“I can assure you, Master Oakenshield, that whatever ill will still between us bears no weight upon my words now. I am indebted to the hobbit, if you recall and I speak the truth. I have seen this before. The black breath. It is a dangerous tool of the enemy but there may still be hope for her. If you would just allow me a moment.”

Thranduil reached forward again, slowly, his hand coming to rest on Lyla’s arms. 

“STOP!” Dain’s voice roared over the murmurs of the crowd. “Do not touch that creature!”

The commander limped forwards, a glare upon his face. 

Thorin cast a curious, and annoyed glance at his cousin. 

What did he mean by this?

“She is a traitor and will not be relinquished to YOU, elf.” Dain snarled, “Until you return the arkenstone.” 

“Well that’s not very likely to happen, now is it?” Bard’s low voice rose softly from behind Thorin, “That stone is in my possession and remains my responsibility to discuss such matter with the KING of Erebor and not his cousin. You have no authority here, Dain Ironfoot.”

Thorin tried not to flinch away and he could he the loud growl that rumbled in Dwalin’s chest as the warrior clamored to his feet. 

“You foul, miserable leech,” Dwalin snarled, “What do ye mean with this behavior. Can ye not see that he cares for the lass?”

“I see that she has ensnared his good graces once more,” Dain retorted, heatedly, taking a step forward, only to be halted by Dori, Nori and Fili, whose weapons were pointed towards Dain, similar growls of protest escaping their lips. 

Dain’s guards faltered in their movements, some reaching for their weapons, while others stepped backwards, torn between following their leader or avoiding conflict. 

“Ye shall not touch her,” Bofur hissed, raising his mattock, “I’ll not allow it.”

Beorn was standing near the miner, snout pointed towards Dain, a deep, haunting growl rumbling in his chest.

Dain did his best to ignore the giant bear before him as he fixed his gaze on Thorin. 

“Then Erebor will fall! She will destroy you. She will destroy all of us. That…creature brings nothing but danger with her.”

“Enough.” 

Thorin’s voice was low, bitter as he nestled Lyla’s head beneath his chin, his arms tightening around her still form.

“I will hear no more of this,” He muttered, eyeing Dain carefully. “No more of this madness.”

“She is a traitor,” Dain hissed, taking another step forward, ignoring Thorin’s declaration, and the way Legolas raised his bow towards him. “She betrayed you. She gave away the symbol of your right to rule!”

“I was a fool,” Thorin remarked, as members of the company began to close around him, as elves stepped forward as well. “I am a fool. My thoughts were clouded and I misjudged her. She deserved none of it.”

“And you,” snapped Fili, “had no right to attack her. Cast her into the dungeons. It was not your judgment to make.”

Thorin’s eyes widened slightly at the realization that he had left Lyla defenseless, helpless.

Oh yes, he was a fool indeed.

“I don’t care,” Dain snapped, “You know nothing. This hobbit will lead to ruin and destruction and I cannot allow that to take place.” 

Dain made to advance against the company, a few of his soldiers coming to his aid. 

The company, however, was ready for him and Thorin watched, with a sinking sense of horror as they locked in battle. Dwarf against dwarf. 

And all because of a hobbit. 

Dwalin was the first to connect a solid hit against a few of the guards, sending them sprawling. And then Bofur’s mattock collided with another dwarf’s shoulder throwing him off balance long enough for Dori to sweep the guard’s feet out from under him. 

Thorin marveled that none of the company inflicted any serious blows to their opponents. 

Dain managed to break apart from the rest, slipping past the other carefully and heading towards Thorin, his sword raised.

“It is for the best,” He remarked, his voice sounding foreign to Thorin’s ears. 

This did not sound like the Dain he once knew. It was…

Darker. 

Injured as he was, Thorin tried to curl as much of himself around the hobbit, prepared to take the blow for her, should it come to that. 

It didn’t

A loud cry erupted from the crowd and Ori, of all people, charged forward and brought his war hammer forth, colliding with Dain’s sword arm, knocking the weapon from his grip and forcing a biting groan from the dwarf’s lips. 

Then Gandalf the Grey was there, staff raised , the twisted, pointed end connecting with the dwarf’s skull, sending Dain stumbling backwards. The wizard then raised the staff upwards, colliding with Dain’s jaw.

Dain Ironfoot was knocked senseless and the company members converged upon the disoriented warrior, hauling the dwarf to his feet.

“You are not yourself,” The wizard admonished as he stood over the dwarf, staff pointed at the creature, should he attempt to rise again. 

“Aye, anyone else care to engage in Master Ironfoot’s cause?” Dwalin growled, raising his war hammer to the ready, the other following his example, “I guarantee ye that we’re ready fer a fight if ye insist upon it.” 

No one did. The guards remained still, some eyeing the elves and men cautiously, but not daring to reach for their weapons. 

It appeared they were content with following Dwalin’s command. 

And Thorin’s heart started to beat somewhat normally again as Thranduil reached once more for the hobbit.

The one HE had promised to protect. 

Mahal if any more harm came to her…

“lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad” the elf murmured quietly, resting his hand along the hobbit’s hairline and Thorin was vaguely aware that some of the others had bound and gagged Dain, though he did not care for the moment. 

The murmurs grew lower, indistinguishable to Thorin’s ears as he watched Thranduil’s ministrations, wondering, not daring to hope, but finding that flicker growing stronger as the whispers continued. 

Thorin waited, eyes riveted to Lyla’s still form, willing her chest to move, willing the breath to return.

As the moments dragged, however, the hobbit remained pale and still. 

Far too still. 

“lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad,” Thranduil muttered again, more volume behind his words as he leaned closer to Lyla’s face, shielding the hobbit’s face from the drizzle of rain. 

Time slowed, a deep weight of anguish settled over Thorin’s heart and he knew, knew that there was nothing he could do, nothing that anyone could do to reverse what had already happened. 

She was silent, unmoving. 

But then…

With a shuddering gasp, Lyla’s chest rose, air filling her lungs and Thorin’s eyes widened a gasp escaping his own lips as he brought the hobbit closer.  
He could scarce believe what he was seeing. She was breathing. 

Mahal, she was breathing! 

“Lass,” Dwalin’s hushed call was laced with disbelief and pain as he too laid a hand upon Lyla’s head, “Durin’s beard she’s alive. She’s alive. You’ve done it, Master Elf.”

“No,” Thranduil remarked rising gracefully to his full height, “I’ve merely delayed what will happen if we do not help her.” 

Thorin’s eyes travelled back down towards the hobbit. He noted with a pained jolt that her breathing was already beginning to shallow. 

Mahal…

“She is fading,” Thranduil continued, “And quickly. The potency of this particular attack is far greater than most others I have seen. And if we do not hurry, she will be beyond reach.”

Thorin ran a hand over Lyla’s cheek once more and then cast a glance at the elf king who stood before him. 

“What must we do?”

*****

In the end, they returned to the main tent (undamaged by that fell beast’s attack), Thranduil carefully cradling the hobbit in his arms as they walked slowly over debris from the overturned tents and splintered posts.. 

Much to the dwarf king’s consternation.

Thorin had fumed at first, demanding the right to take care of the little Shireling, but his stitches had come undone and in the end, he was too weak to even stand on his own. 

Dwalin had been forced to support the weary king back to Thranduil’s tent as well muttering curses all the while. 

Thorin had refused to be parted from the hobbit. 

“I will not leave her again,” He’d hissed when Balin had encouraged the battle-worn king to rest. “I will not risk it again.”

Thranduil understood Thorin’s obvious attachment to this Lyla Baggins, and conceded to allow the dwarf to remain in the tent with her. Though he also knew the king was being a fool. 

He’d die of infection if his wounds weren’t tended to again. The mud and grime from the rainfall most certainly would bring illness. 

And as it was, he imagined that the hobbit, should she live, would not be pleased by THOSE turn of events. 

Once the majority of their audience had left, barring nearly half of the dwarf king’s original company (the others seeing to Dain Ironfoot) and Gandalf the Grey (and a giant growling changeling prowling the entrance), Thranduil carefully laid the hobbit upon his cloak on the cot furthest back from the entrance and the biting wind and then turned towards his table. 

On that table a small box sat. 

And it was in this box that Thranduil pulled out a delicate vial of clear liquid, a salve and some clean bandages. 

He turned towards Thorin, who had been helped onto another cot near the hobbit, with a raised brow. 

“We must tend to your wounds Master Oakenshield,” He remarked lowly, his tone neutral, “Especially if we are to avoid infection.”

Thorin stared incredulously back at Thranduil, his mouth slightly agape, brows furrowed and eyes disbelieving. 

“You have more pressing matters to attend to!” he finally retorted, “I’m hardly of importance here. Help her. What do you need to help her?”

Thorin’s eyes drifted towards Lyla his mouth pulling into a frown. 

And for a moment Thranduil had a shard of pity for his plight. For a moment his thoughts were swayed to do as the dwarf requested. 

For a moment he saw his father’s face. 

And then rationality took over and with a shake of his head, he stepped towards the king of Erebor, a firm, determined glare upon his face.

“And if you die, what then? This whole endeavor would be for naught.”

“You could save her!” Thorin growled trying to rise, wincing as he did so, “She would be safe.”

“And miserable,” Gandalf remarked authoritatively, as he fixed Thorin with a hard look, “She’d never forgive herself. You know that.” 

Eru save him from the stubbornness of dwarves. 

*****  
Dwalin’s thoughts were clouded with worry and annoyance as he stalked back towards the mountain.

His fists were clenching and unclenching agitatedly. 

Thranduil, King of Mirkwood had certainly been cunning enough to give Thorin a sleeping draught, sending the injured king into a deep enough sleep that a healer (and elvish healer flanked closely by Oin) could attend to his wounds. 

But then, after taking care of the King of Erebor, Thranduil’s gaze had landed on Dwalin and the others, his eyes shifting between the dwarves who had crammed into the king’s tent without so much an invitation. 

And he bid them to retreat. 

“You must leave me in peace,” he had murmured, “I must be allowed a quiet moment of work.”

Dwalin had fumed and made towards the elf determined to strike the fair-faced creature down. 

It was Gandalf that stopped his axe.

“What he means, master dwarf,” the wizard remarked, “Is that it is best for our hobbit if he has quiet. There is much to be done for her”

“And ye think that we’re just gonna step aside and not help the lass?” Bofur was indignant, “She’s one of us now and I’ll not let ye have the final say in what I can and cannot do for her!”

The company members started to argue, their voices growing in volume. 

“We’re going to protect her!” Fili remarked heatedly, his glower rivaling his uncle’s famous glare, “She’s our sister. She’s our responsibility.”

“Silence.” Thranduil’s tone brooked no argument as he glared at the company members, “A fine job you’ve done of taking care of her,” he had snorted, “It appears as though she’s taken care of you. And what’s her thanks been?” 

That silenced the company completely and Dwalin, for his part, felt the crushing weight of guilt coursing through him. 

“However, I do not mean that you are to do nothing.” 

“What de ye mean then?” Balin stepped forward, having remained silent until this point, carefully assessing the situation (as he always did, Dwalin admitted), “How are we to help the lass then?”

“Athelas,” Thranduil replied and Dwalin gazed between the elf and his brother, noting the way that Balin’s face clouded in confusion.

Athelas?

“It is a small plant,” Gandalf remarked noting the silence, “’King’s Foil’ is it’s more common name.”

At that name, Oin (even with his hard hearing) perked up and turned to face Thranduil. 

“Ye need King’s Foil?” He remarked his face pulled into a frown, “There’ll be none fer miles yet. Maybe in the woodlands just across the mountain, but it’s a long shot at best. We  
don’t know how far the dragon fire might’ve spread and destroyed the soil.”

Thranduil nodded in thanks and turned back towards the rest of the company. 

“I can delay the spread of this darkness for some time yet, but it will be Athelas that we need to save her. The men I can spare will search towards Dale and the remains of Laketown and the forest if your men will search in the other direction.”

“That’s why you put Thorin under,” Fili’s voice was slightly amused, “He’d be the first one to try and look for that plant.”

Thranduil fixed his gaze upon the heir of Erebor and quirked his eyebrow upwards, his face remaining neutral.

But his face said enough. 

‘Clever,’ Dwalin conceded, ‘Very clever.’

Of course they had been eager to help. And Dwalin, among the leaders of the guards was among the first to vacate the tent, sending a fond look Lyla’s way, and retreating towards the mountain. 

Avoiding as man questioning gazes as possible, the warrior picked his way up the long staircase and towards the second level where Ori had stored some of the maps he’d found  
in the library. 

But the more steps he took towards the small alcove where the maps had been placed, the move anguish and fury gnawed at him, making it hard to put one foot in front of the other. 

That lass. 

That foolish, stubborn, brave little lass. Did she not realize how much this would hurt him if she left? The closest thing he had to a sister and she was trying to leave him! 

Just like Dis had left him. 

Grief washed over him and he stopped, staring at the long hallway, his nails digging into the leather covering his palms. 

Dis.

Mahal how he loved her. 

At first he fancied that he was sweet for her. She had a bonnie face and all. 

But as the years went on, he began to see that they were more like kin that lovers. He’d become her protector and she’d become his. 

But at Moria when he’d followed Thorin instead of following after her, he’d lost her.

He never got to say goodbye and…

And her face still haunted him sometimes in his dreams. Seeing that, that moment of loss and knowing that he’d never get to say goodbye or to just tell her how much he loved her. 

And now the lass was trying to leave too. After this whole adventure, seeing her bravery (her stupidity) and her sheer determination to prove her worth had endeared the spritely little creature to him against his will. 

And after all the pain, all the struggle, everything, she still fought for them. 

Still fought to protect Thorin. 

And now she was…

Dwalin let out a growl of frustration, his fist slamming into the hard stone is annoyance flaring. 

He barely registered the sting across his knuckles as fury and anguish took over, his resolve buckling for the moment. 

He hit the wall again.

And again.

And again. 

All the years he’d spent burying those feelings of loss, those fears…

He wanted to curse Thorin, curse his stupidity, curse his hardheaded judgments, even though he knew it was misplaced. Thorin had not been right in mind. His words were not his own. The gold sickness had taken over his senses just as it had taken over Thror (and he suspect Thrain as well). 

No, it had been fate, and the wicked hand of a wicked race of creatures that brought Dis’ passing those many years ago returned to haunt the dwares of Erebor. 

And here they were, the memories coming back to haunt him, and the darkness trying to take away another person that he loved. 

Another sister. 

The thought left him weak and he slumped against the wall for a moment trying to catch his breath, trying to remove the sorrow that filled his heart. 

“Please,” He muttered lowly, into the dark of the tunnel, “Please do not take her. Do not take her from us.”

The warrior let his eyes slipped closed and took in several deep breaths, feeling his shoulders shuddering with pent up energy and anger.

As it was, it took Dwalin a few moments to catch his breath and school his emotions. He did not want to dally. He did not want to waste any more time than necessary.

He had work to do. 

*****

He was groggy.

His mind felt sluggish, bogged down with drowsiness and it took him a moment to remember what had transpired. 

With a deep breath, his mind registered a deep, painful ache in his chest. With each inhale, a painful tug pulled at his skin. Thorin wanted to twist away from that pain, shrink in on himself.

Mahal it hurt. 

He tried to stifle a groan and forced his eyes to open. 

He was surprised to see the thick, tan canvas of a tent. 

An unfamiliar tent.

One that smelled rather strange to his nose.

“I see that you are finally awake Thorin Oakenshield.” 

That voice. 

Like lightning Thorin’s mind was alert and processing. His thoughts immediately casting aside his discomfort and sought, instead, to search for knowledge of another great matter. 

“The hobbit,” He murmured, his voice betraying the exhaustion his body felt, “How is she?”

He tried to sit up, only to be pressed back down upon the cot by large warm, wrinkled hand.

“Where is she Gandalf,” He hummed, gritting his teeth against the incessant ache, “Where is the hobbit?”

“Lyla Baggins is quite safe, I assure you,” Gandalf remarked thoughtfully, “She is as well as can be expected. Thranduil has been tending to her with great diligence and the others are out searching for Athelas.”

Thorin cast a curious glance at the wizard, questions burning in his mind. 

“Why Athelas? That’s a weed.”

“And one that will save Lyla’s life,” Gandalf remarked, “Black breath is a most potent foe.” He fixed Thorin with a hard look, “She came in contact with someone of great power, Thorin Oakenshield. Someone who burdened her with this great darkness. And she did that all for the sake of protecting you.”

Thorin felt another pain in his chest, this one caused by the immense guilt coursing through his veins. 

“You don’t think I know that Gandalf?” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the image of a word and weary hobbit putting all her energy into  
shoving him out of harm’s way. “You don’t think I know how much she’s given up?”

“I do not think you fully understand Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf replied in a clipped tone, “She did more than give something up. She took on an impossible task. She fought for you. Bolg, and many of his army were being controlled. A power that can summon the dead had taken over their bodies and your fight with the great chieftain of Moria would have yielded nothing but your own death. But, somehow, Lyla knew of that power and warned us. She saved you Thorin. ”

Gandalf’s eyes softened as he tilted his head ever so slightly towards a small cot in the back, where gold curls shone against the pale skin and white blanket draped over the sleeping hobbit. 

Crisp white. 

That’s what she was draped in. 

And, someone had cleaned the muck from her face, neck and arms and dressed the hobbit in a loose (and far too large) tunic, the soft green color casting a striking contrast against her pale skin.

But, it was her arm that Thorin’s eyes drifted to. 

The shirtsleeve of her left arm had been rolled up to nearly her shoulder, exposing the menacing purple veins of sickness travelling up her arm, turning her flesh a terrifying shade of grey. 

The sight made him ill at ease. 

“What can I do for her,” He murmured to the wizard, not taking his eyes off of Lyla, “How can I help her?”

Gandalf gave a long, tired sigh, “I’m afraid there isn’t much you can do. You must focus your attentions on regaining your strength. Fili and Balin have taken over your duties for the time being but it is imperative that you return to your post quickly.”

The warning in Gandalf’s voice made Thorin turned, surprised, back towards the wizard. 

“What has happened Gandalf?” 

The wizard seemed to age before THorin’s eyes and he stared in rapt fascination and worry at Gandalf’s imposing form. 

“We have been blind,” he remarked slowly, “And in our blindness our enemy has returned.” He sent a firm look towards Thorin, “A great evil has risen from the shadows of Dol Guldur and its arm has stretched across Middle Earth. It has influenced your past and it has brought you back to Erebor to destroy you and your people.”

Thorin was confused. He could not recall such an enemy. 

“I don’t understand…” The dwarf trailed off as Gandalf brought forth a small object, the dark garnet glittering in the soft lighting of the tent. 

“Where-“ he nearly choked on his words, “How did you come by this?”

He recognized that ring…

“It was given to me by your father,” Gandalf replied softly, “By Thrain. He was there when I entered the fortress.”

It was as if a large bucket of water had been poured over Thorin’s head. He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his father…

His father…

“But where is he now?” Thorin slowly pushed himself into a sitting position (and this time Gandalf did not stop him), “Where is my father. If you talked to him, where did he--?”

The dwarf’s eyes suddenly narrowed and he frowned as he watched the wizard’s apologetic face. 

“What happened to him?” He was accusing now, anger beginning to pulse through his veins. 

After all these years…

Gandalf swallowed as his eyes took on a faraway look, “He was taken. Lured by the dark powers into the fortress where he was held prisoner and tortured. When we arrived, he was beyond saving, corrupted and living as a shadow of his former self, bound to the power of the darkness, bound to do the necromancer’s will. He—“ here Gandalf faltered, “He  
attacked us, fought against us and it was only in the midst of defeat that his old presence seemed to come back to him. But only for a moment.”

Gandalf sighed again.

“It was with his last breaths that he requested that his son receive the heirloom. He told me where we might find it within the halls of Erebor.” 

Carefully Gandalf handed the heavy ring over to Thorin, the weight of the object, surprising the dwarf. 

“This attack on the mountain, on Laketown, was not by happenstance. It was carefully orchestrated. Moria was carefully orchestrated.”

Thorin started at the words.

Moria?

Gandalf nodded, seeing Thorin’s surprised expression, “The necromancer’s design has been to destroy the line of Durin. He does not want to see the mountain come back into power. At least, not your power. And…he’s seeking something.”

“But why? What have I got that he wants so badly?”

“Two things, actually,” Thranduil murmured, stepping into the tent and eyeing Thorin carefully, “You actually have two things that he might desire greatly, one you hold in your hands right now.”

Thorin’s gaze drifted to the ring in his hand. Something seemed…unusually familiar about it, though he couldn’t quite place WHY he felt that way. For all appearances, the ring seemed perfectly ordinary, with a large garnet fastened as the central stone and flanked by two small diamonds on either side. Small inscriptions on the sides stated two words: 

Power and Glory. 

He thought he could hear soft murmurs in his ear. Familiar soft, enticing murmurs. 

Thorin winced as he shifted, the stitches tugging against the fabric of his tunic. 

His gaze returned to the elf and wizard who stood and sat before him. 

It didn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand,” he conceded, curling his fingers around the trinket in his hand, “Why would the necromancer be so interested in this ring specifically.” 

“The necromancer,” Gandalf sighed again, “is a powerful foe, and one I fear may be in league with the enemy. Sauron was never fully destroyed. Though he cannot take physical form, his presence still holds some potency. And if this necromancer can summon the dead and control such dark powers, it could have only come from the dark lord himself.” 

Thranduil flinched and Thorin visibly started. 

But that was…

Impossible. 

“H-how? How do you know this? And why would he be so keen to keep this ring?”

A low wheezing noise had Thorin, Thranduil and Gandalf jerking their heads to gaze at Lyla. Her breathing had become unsteady and Thranduil quickly retreated to the hobbit to tend to her, his voice low and soothing as he approached. 

Thorin’s heart stuttered as he watched Lyla’s pale face grow paler as her chest continued to waver and struggle. 

The dwarf tried to rise, but Gandalf was pressing him back down again, much to Thorin’s annoyance and pain.

Mahal when did it hurt this much to move? 

“You can do nothing for her at the moment,” the wizard admonished, “Except stay. Let yourself have some time to heal.”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Thorin hissed, keeping his voice low. “I can’t just watch her waste away while the others are off searching for, for…. Athelas? I have to do something.” 

“Your role may be different,” Gandalf remarked, “But it is no less important. The knowledge I have for you, will spare both you and Lyla Baggins further grief, so I believe she is tied to this story much in the same way you are.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at Gandalf.

“What do you mean, wizard? She is no dwarf. She grew up in The Shire and has no ties to the dwarves or to Sauron. How could SHE, of all creatures in Middle Earth be bound to such a dark road?”

“I know that,” Gandalf remarked, somewhat flustered, “But nonetheless she is tied to this as much as you or I. Somehow she’s acquired the attention of one strong enough to match the Nazgul’s black breath. And the only other creature we know of capable of THAT…” Gandalf trailed off, his brows knitting together as his eyes took on a faraway look. 

“I cannot…” He murmured, “Something…somehow she’s been in contact with him. And I have to figure out HOW.” Gandalf cast another look towards Lyla and Thranduil, “So many questions…”

Thorin shifted on his cot, lifting his head a little higher. “What can I do?” He murmured, shifting his eyes towards Lyla who was starting to breathe easier again. 

It set his heart back to a normal pace for the moment.

“You must destroy it,” Gandalf remarked, his voice rough, but distracted, “There is a power in that ring that could aid the enemy. It corrupted your grandfather, and tainted your father. It even held you in its sway for a time." Thorin cringed at the thought of dangling Lyla over the wall. "You must not let it continue to control your bloodline. He must not have it.”

Another shuddering breath brought the wizard’s and dwarf’s attention back towards the hobbit. 

Thorin pocketed the ring, knowing that as soon as he was able he’d destroy the cursed object. 

But it was the ring in the pocket of his trousers that dredged up thoughts of other rings. 

One that Lyla Baggins had in her possession, that allowed her to become invisible a curiosity in and of itself. 

However, it was the other ring, which captured his full attention. It was a ring that symbolized Lyla’s nature, her spirit. 

A ring he had no right to take away from her. 

And, as he watched the hobbit, administered to by the elf and wizard, he vowed that he would rectify that situation and restore what rightfully belonged to his hobbit. 

It wasn’t until many hours later, when he’d slowly stumbled towards Lyla’s cot to hold her small, pale hand that he realized that Gandalf had not told him what the other object was the necromancer desired. 

He noted the small ring around the chain on Lyla’s neck and brought Lyla’s bruised hand to his lips. 

Mahal how he wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her as he once had. To brush the wayward locks of hair from her forehead.

To hear her soft murmurs of sleep. 

Not this silence. 

“Please,” he spoke in a hushed whisper, “Please don’t go.”

*****

Two days passed. 

Lyla remained utterly still, wavering between light and shadow, her face growing paler, her skin colder with each hour. 

Between his enforced moments of sleep, Thorin spent his time watching Lyla carefully, counting the times her chest rose and fell. 

His worry grew into a panic after each report from Roac conceded that athelas was not found yet, that the desolation of dragon fire had spread too far. 

And while rebuilding had started, new plans and alliances made, Thorin never left Lyla’s side for long, even though he found it hard to breath as he watched her carefully, his fingers tracing the familiar soothing circles onto the back of her hand. 

Fili and Balin had taken charge of most of the affairs, though they themselves were concerned for the hobbit. Fili claimed it gave him a distraction, and his pained expression confirmed the guilt and longing for one he called sister. 

But nothing changed. 

And Thorin would not leave her side, even when Thranduil administered what power he could in keeping Lyla’s spirit flickering. 

But it was a battle they were slowly losing.

And by the morning of the third day, Thorin made a decision. 

He sent Roac with a missive for the dwarves to return.

“We must move her,” He amended to Thranduil, resignedly, slowly rising to his feet (his strength beginning to return. 

The elf king and the grey wizard eyed Thorin carefully, silently. 

Thorin swallowed the emotions back as he gazed down at blonde curls, twisting lovingly around delicate pointed ears. “I—“ he faltered, “I want her to be comfortable.” He met 

Gandalf’s gaze, “I’ve called the others back. We do not have much time left, do we?”

Gandalf looked wearied, as he shook his head, “A day at most,” He remarked lowly, gruffly, “We cannot stave off this disease for much longer.”

“Then it is good they come to say goodbye,” The dwarf murmured, his chest pained him.

He felt as though he were drowning. 

And so, with great care, the elves assisted Thorin Oakenshield in carrying Lyla Baggins into the halls of Erebor, Legolas carrying the hobbit with Tauriel and Thranduil flanked on either side of the princeling. 

They passed by Bard and the men of Laketown, Bard casting his eyes away out of respect. 

They passed by Beorn, who stood, towering over the others, his face pulled into a deep frown, his eyes betraying years of loneliness and heartache to Thorin. 

They passed by guardsmens, elves, men and dwarves.

And they moved…

Into the royal chamber, freshly cleaned of dust, borrowed linens (a gift from the elves) adorning the large bed they placed the small hobbit on. 

They brought forth a chair for Thorin, who took a seat next to the bed silently, watching the breaths shallowing and slowing. Thranduil and Gandalf stayed with him most of the time, the three of them watching silently. Occaisionally, Thranduil would whisper in Sindarin, close to the hobbit’s ears as he brushed her hair back.

But soon, both retreated, giving Thorin privacy with the hobbit. They were delaying the inevitable now, prolonging the hand of fate until the others could get here. Thorin could see the toll it was taking on the wizard and the elf, who had spent days using his energy to preserve the life of one, small creature. A deep sense of gratitude filled the dwarf for the actions of the elf king, something he never thought he'd feel for Thranduil. 

But he was grateful, grateful that Thranduil could stave off the death's kiss for a little longer. 

Dwalin was the first to arrive, his anguished cries, filling the chamber as he cradled Lyla close, murmuring in the hobbit’s hair, apologies, promises, anything if she would but open her eyes. 

Bofur and the others followed soon after. Some stood in silence, others protested this fate, demanding that their hobbit fight, fight hard. 

“Don’t you give up,” Nori admonished, his voice coming out lower than usual, “Don’t you give up. Keep fighting.” 

Many of the dwarves spoke similar comments. 

Similar pleadings.

Soon, though, the others left and Thorin was alone.

He took up Lyla’s hand again, beginning to run soothing circles into her skin as he called for Fili and Kili (who was healing nicely, his injuries far milder than originally supposed). 

“Her ring,” the dwarf king murmured when the two brothers stepped in, “Your mother’s ring. I’m sure…Lyla would want…” His gaze locked with their sorrowed faces and Thorin found that he could not finish the statement. 

He could not speak for a full minute in fact, as the knowledge of loss settled in his heart. Once again he was losing her. Watching her fade away. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally murmured as the boys knelt by the bed, their faces falling, as they rested hands upon his shoulders, “So sorry.” 

The two returned several hours later with the ring and flower carving of Bifur’s, a small mithril chain replacing the leather strap that Thorin had destroyed in his fit of rage. 

With the necklace, however, they also brought the other items Thorin had requested. The small silver box that had rested in his old bed chambers, nestled in the furthest corner, well out of the dragon’s destruction. 

And soon enough, they too retreated once more, leaving Thorin alone with Lyla and his thoughts.

And the box. 

Carefully, Thorin opened the lid, softly blowing off the years of dust. 

He pulled the tools out one by one and examined their durability. 

And then, he pulled for the small, round treasure. 

With deft fingers, Thorin began to shape the metal, smoothing edges and softening the hard contours of the mithril. 

When he was satisfied with the shape, he then began to add the finer details. He spent hours moulding the contours, carefully placing etchings. Soft swirls encased the metal and the details became more refined. Thorin’s thoughts drifted towards Lyla’s smile, her twinkling eyes…

The things he’d never see again.

Choking back a sob, he gazed down at the bead in his hand, adorned with delicate flowers (star flowers) and swirling vines, and then cast his gaze towards Lyla and the labored, shallow breathing her lungs exuded.

“Do not leave me. I beg you,” he whispered, “Do not go where I cannot follow. Please.”

But the pleadings went on deaf ears, for those ears were numb to the world of the living.

A calloused hand gently fingered golden curls atop the head of the young hobbit, lying unconscious in the too large bed, pale and deathly still.

“Please my flower. Please return. I cannot see another sunrise without you with me. Please, please come back. I beg you.”

The sobs of a broken man filled the still chamber, echoing down the hall as Thorin reach forward and placed a gentle kiss upon Lyla’s forehead before slipping the bead onto the thin chain of mithril around her neck.

*****  
It was these sobs that Bofur heard as he, Dwalin and Gandalf hurried along the corridor towards the chambers. 

Oh Mahal they had better not be too late. 

That thought sent his footfalls moving faster and he all but sprinted towards the door, not bother into knock before entering. 

The sight before him, knocked the words from his mouth as he watched the king, a mere shadow of his imposing self, cradling Lyla’s hand in his own, kissing her knuckles every few moments. 

Bofur’s heart constricted and he stared for a moment. But then, as he watched Lyla’s chest continue to rise and fall, his mind urged him forward. 

“Thorin,” Dwalin called softly towards the king, “There is news.”

The sobs had subsided and Thorin cleared his throat.

“What of it?” he remarked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

He didn’t turn to face them. 

“Guests,” Gandalf remarked stepping forward, his stride purposeful, “Thorin Oakenshield, you have guests.”

Bofur’s eyes widened at the haunted look that Thorin gave as he turned to acknowledge their presence. 

He frowned at the wizard.

“I’m afraid,” he replied tiredly, “That I cannot entertain at the moment. You’ll have to send them away.” 

“Uncle!” Fili’s voice rang down the hall as the sound of rapid footsteps echoed, “Uncle!” 

The young brothers darted into the room, their faces alright. 

“You have guests,” Kili remarked, winded and wincing from his exertions, “They bring good tidings.”

And then Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, stepped slowly into the room, two more elves coming in behind him and then taking up the doorway as Thranduil stepped aside.  
Bofur watched Thori who sat straighter, though his grip never loosening from Lyla’s hand. The dwarf king eyed the two elves carefully. 

Dressed in rich blues and indigo, the two tall, dark haired elves watched Thorin hesitantly, silently. 

“Elladan,” said one.

“And Elrohir,” The other remarked as they both bowed.

“At your service.”

Thorin blinked a few times as the creatures before him. 

“Thorin Oakenshield,” The taller of the two elves, Elrohir, took a step forward, his long chestnut hair swaying slightly as he moved, “We come here as envoys for Lord Elrond.”

Drawing his cloak back, Elrohir revealed a small pouch attached to his belt. He gave a small smile towards Thorin as he slowly untied the pouch. 

“We come, Master Oakenshield, with athelas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end and I'd love to hear your comments if you'd care to indulge me...
> 
> And, of course these lovely authors deserve your attention as well. Their writing is simply divine. 
> 
> chappysmom: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> kookookarli: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> luckyhai5: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


	68. Dreams and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting, watching, healing...
> 
> Music: 
> 
> http://youtu.be/ZCQ53pWxDcE  
> http://youtu.be/a6lbvoI0gM8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've finally reached that point. We're nearly there people. The end...goodness it's been an amazing and LONG adventure. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Thanks for always being such amazing readers. I adore you.

Thorin watched with rapt fascination and confusion as the two elves bowed their heads in respect to the dwarf king and then set to work.

A bowl

Cool water

Rags

Bandages

And athelas

They’d come prepared, Thorin acknowledged, as he watched each item brought forward. 

The room was silent, almost reverently so, as Elrohir handed the small pouch to his companion who had crouched at the hobbit’s bedside. 

Thorin’s gaze drifted towards Lyla, whose breathing was labored and shallow, her skin a sickening grey. A dark shadow had settled under her eyes, and the contours of her cheeks had deepened, making her face more angular, malnourished. 

And then his eyes flicked back towards the elf, Elladan, who was carefully crushing some of the athelas between his palms, rubbing the delicate leaves and tiny white flowers together slowly. 

‘Something so small,’ Thorin mused, staring at the tiny plant, ‘bearing so much significance.’

The similarity between Lyla and this tiny flower was not lost on him. 

A soft, earthy scent started to fill Thorin’s nostrils and he leaned closer, ignoring the way his stitches protested the movement. 

He wanted to be near her. To protect her however he could, to somehow try to make amends.

With precise movements, Elladan grabbed one of the rags and placed the crushed plant within its folds, wrapping the fabric around itself to seal the leaves and petals inside. Pulling the water skein towards himself, he then began to pour the water into the bowl that Elrohir had placed at the bedside.

The wrapped plant was dunked into the water, and then brought towards the hobbit’s dried, cracked lips. 

Thorin’s fingers twitched agitatedly and he resisted the urge to reach for his hobbit as Elladan lifted her head into his arm and coaxed her lips to part. 

And then the elf gently squeezed the water from the rag, the mixture of leaves and petals infusing with the liquid and trickling into Lyla’s mouth like a cold tea. 

He repeated this two more times, each time makings sure that the hobbit had swallowed the concoction before setting her back amongst the pillows. 

Then, the elf unwound the damp rag and carefully swept the shriveled plant into the bowl of water. He then reached in and brought more athelas from the pouch, quickly ripping leaves and petals from their stem, breaking the veins and then dropping them into the water as well. 

While he was doing this, Elrohir began to carefully tug on the shirtsleeve of Lyla’s left arm, exposing the angry purple veins of poison coursing up her arm and to her shoulder, running up the base of her neck. 

Thorin tried to repress a shudder as a horrible ache throbbed in his chest as he gazed at her small (too thin) arm and the damage the black breath had wrought upon the hobbit.   
What made him truly ill at ease, what set his throat seizing in horrified guilt, though, were the angry welts still glaringly bright around her throat. The marks he had overlooked until now.

Those marks, that marred her delicate flesh, were his doing. 

Mahal, how utterly stupid he had been. 

He was not fit to be king. 

He was not fit for her presence. 

He was nothing. 

Elladan slowly dipped the rag into the bowl of water, wringing out the excess before bringing the damp cloth towards the hobbit’s shoulder. 

Thorin could see the flecks of white petals and bright green leaves stuck to the material of the rag as it touched Lyla’s arm. 

With precise, delicate movements, Elladan brushed the cloth against Lyla’s flesh, the dampness of the rag leaving a trail of small droplets as it traveled down her arm, covering each purple marking, each poisonous, vein that encircled Lyla’s wrist, fingers, forearm and upwards to her neck. Flecks of flower stuck to the hobbit’s arm as Elladan repeated the process, two, three, four times, humming softly, words in Sindarin escaping his mouth as he leaned his face towards Lyla’s ear. 

The words, though foreign to Thorin’s ears, left the dwarf king with a strange sense of comfort as he watched two elves minister to Lyla, Elrohir now placing dry leaves and flowers directly on Lyla’s skin while Elladan began to wrap her palm, wrist, and arm in the crisp, clean bandages. 

Something so simple as a flowering plant could bring about his salvation?

It did not seem possible.

And yet…

Thorin watched Lyla carefully, noting the way her breathing was still shallow, but slowly steadying into a constant rhythm.

Perhaps…

Yet he scarce dared to believe it. He scarce dared to hope that his…

Thorin swallowed back the emotions as the elf, Elladan turned towards him, eyes hooded and assessing, a thin smile on his lips.

“For now,” he murmured softly, eyes sweeping over Thorin’s face, “For now she lives. We must trust that there is some strength in the hobbit yet.”

“Is it not certain?” Ori’s small, hesitant voice carried towards Thorin and the elf, both of whom turned towards the crown gathered near the door. The sweater-clad dwarf stood hesitantly near his brother’s side, arms still wrapped in bandages as he gazed with wide eyes at the elf and then towards the hobbit. 

“Is it not certain that she will survive?” He remarked again, “I thought that athelas would cure her.”

Elladan’s gaze flicked towards Thorin who watched the elf carefully, willing his emotions to stay in check. 

He knew what the answer would be.

“No,” the elf replied softly as he rose from his post at Lyla’s bedside, trying his hands on one of the rags, “No it is not a guarantee that she will survive.”

“The athelas is a potent remedy to be sure,” Elrohir cut in, “But the black breath is also a potent foe.” The elf’s gaze turned thoughtful, “This one much more than others I have seen before. Truly it will come down to the hobbit’s resilience to the poison.” 

“Aye,” Dwalin’s voice was gruff as he glared at the elves, the emotions within his gaze betraying his fear for the hobbit beneath his hard exterior, “She’s a spry thing to be sure. Stubborn to a fault and just as resilient.”

Elladan bowed his head once towards the warrior and then turned to Thorin, “We can do no more for the moment,” He remarked, “We must allow the plant to work on the hobbit, coax the poison from her. However, if she’s as stubborn as you say…” the elf trailed off with a small smirk.

Thorin narrowed his eyes as the elf’s gaze returned to the hobbit, lingering on her still form for a moment too long (in the dwarf’s opinion) before turning once more towards Thorin.

“We’ve certainly heard a great deal of the halfling’s exploits on her trip to the East. Her reputation certainly precedes her. Galadriel herself has been rather impressed by the little Shireling.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes, “She is half of nothing,” he retorted, mimicking the words that Lyla herself had spoken not long ago, “and you’d do well to remember that, master elf.”  
A knowing twinkle sparked in Elladan’s rich eyes as his lips quirked into a understanding (though pained) smile. He gave a quick bow to Thorin.

“Indeed,” he remarked 

*****  
Thranduil’s curiosity of the hobbit only continued to grow as he watched Elrond’s eldest attend to Lyla Baggins. 

What was Elrond gaining by sending his sons to Erebor?

How had this hobbit garnered such a reverence from the Lord of Imladris?

And Galadriel as well?

What could have provoked such attention, especially for one so seemingly ordinary?

‘And yet…’ Thranduil’s thoughts were humming, as he watched the steady rise and fall of the hobbit’s chest, ‘She is not so ordinary is she?’

The hobbit certainly acquired an extensive legion of warriors to come to her aid (something he found both amusing and rather unusual). 

She’d also gained a notorious affinity for attracting unwanted attention as well. 

How?

‘So many questions to answer, and the one who could answer them…’

He narrowed his eyes at Lyla’s still form, pondering, considering. 

And then there was that feeling…

That darkness that surrounded her, the darkness that made his head ache with familiarity and longing and pain.

Thranduil knew it well. He’d grown so accustomed to it, being surrounded by its oppressive nature every day. Bearing memories of hatred and war as a result of that darkness.  
But, by Eru, how had someone so small, so docile and so unaccustomed to the harsh realities of war and conflict come in contact with such darkness?

The memory of Lyla Baggins’ face as she stood before Gandalf, himself and Bard, offering the arkenstone to save Thorin’s life still shone brightly in his mind’s eye. He saw the fear, the resignation, and the anguish. 

But there was also courage and a deeper strength than he thought possible hidden in her large eyes.

No, not ordinary after all. 

“We come with a message from our father,” Elrohir, remarked, stepping away from his brother who continued to fuss over the hobbit.

“For you Gandalf, specifically.”

The wizard appeared somewhat confused as he regarded Elrohir with a careful gaze. 

“What would he have of me then?” he remarked, “I had wondered at his knowing about our need of athelas, but…” 

The grey-cloaked wizard trailed off, his wise blue eyes sparkling with interest. 

“It is about the Lady Galadriel and your recent investigation of the old fortress, master wizard. He sends his apologies that he could not be here to discuss matters with you, but another urgent matter requires his attention.”

Elladan regarded the wizard carefully, “We were entrusted with this task in his stead. However, my Lord Elrond is most anxious to hear of the events within the fortress as well as here at the mountain and bids you to make all haste to Rivendell when your affairs here have been settled.”

It was not lost on Thranduil, the way that Gandalf’s attention shifted back towards Lyla Baggins and then to Thorin, his eyes narrowed and calculating.  
Thranduil recognized that look. It was one he, himself, often bore.

Something bothered the wizard. 

“Of course,” Gandalf remarked, “You have my word that I shall hasten to Rivendell as soon as convenient.”

So many questions…

However, there was one creature he knew of, who might provide some answers.

Silently, the elf king retreated from the room, intent on returning later to seek after the hobbit’s welfare.

For now, though, he’d make his way to the dungeons where a certain dwarf warrior sat in chains. 

*****  
She could feel the dull throbbing in her wrist and fingers, the pulsating pain traveling slowly up her elbow and toward her shoulder.

Aule it hurt. 

And try as she might, Lyla simply couldn’t move her limbs. 

They felt heavy, like lead.

And her eyes.

She couldn’t will them to open. 

She felt trapped, powerless in a dark void, the sickeningly soft voice humming near her ear. 

‘You’ve failed,’ it tutted delightedly, ‘You’ve failed them all. You’ve failed yourself. And you’ll die here alone and forgotten.’

She’d failed.

And aching despair coursed through her, suffocating her, filling her mind with grief and horror. 

After all she’d done and said and promised, she’d failed? 

A deep sadness swept through her and she felt the urge to close her mind from the world, to close her mind from reality. All she felt was pain, and sadness and longing. 

And she was so tired, so tired of fighting.

*****  
Hours crept by in near silence (save for the dwarves who milled about, entering and exiting the room) as Elladan stood near the bed and watched the hobbit carefully.

Her stillness was not lost on him. 

Even with her chest rising and falling, her limbs were immobile (almost forcibly so) and he found no movement in her face.

She appeared like a statue, still in all but her breathing.

No fluttering lashes.

No murmuring sighs.

And it worried him. Such stillness was a sign that things were not progressing towards a positive end. For all his recitations and ministrations, a darkness clung to the hobbit with a fierce determination. 

He’d never seen the black breath wrap itself around a being so completely before. 

The elf’s thoughts drifted towards the king under the mountain and the obvious attachment he had for the hobbit. 

‘She is half of nothing’

The sentiment made him smile as he watched Thorin Oakenshield tenderly stroke the hobbit’s hand, rubbing small circles onto her skin. 

It was a stark contrast to the reputation the dwarf’s name normally carried. 

Warrior.

King in exile.

Rash.

Temperamental.

But never tender. 

It was a startling, though enlightening, sight. 

It certainly elucidated to the elf just how unique this Lyla Baggins had been within the company. 

Though it still did not explain a great deal about her presence there.

Nor, about her association with the Lady Galadriel. 

“Brother,” 

Elrohir’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as he leaned closer to Elladan’s ear, “She fades.” 

He was murmuring in Sindarin, he suspected, to spare the others from the knowledge he shared.

“What are we to do for her?”

‘What indeed?’ Elladan pondered silently as he leaned forward, closer to the hobbit’s dainty, pointed ears and began to murmur in Sindarin once more, trying to coax the hobbit towards the world of the living. He saw the way her breathing struggled and continued to slow. 

“It is her choice,” he remarked, pausing his whispers to the hobbit, and regarding his brother with a careful, measured look, “we cannot alter the hand of fate.” 

Even if their father had been adamant about aiding the hobbit. 

But darkness hung upon Lyla Baggins, Elladan felt it’s presence like a leech sapping the hobbit’s strength and if she did not fight it, he knew that she would not wake. 

The elf continued to murmur in Lyla’s ear.

*****  
‘Fight’ 

The voice cut through the darkness like the clearest of bell chimes, sending the fog from Lyla’s mind 

‘You must fight’

She didn’t recognize that voice. But it’s soft, warm tones awakened the deep ache in her arm, sending her into a spasm of pain. 

It hurt.

Aule it hurt.

Why did it hurt?

She tried to open her eyes, to twist away from the pain, bury herself away from feeling. 

‘You cannot escape it, darling,’

THAT was her mother’s voice. 

‘Living is hard, but you cannot escape it.’

‘Fight’ 

The other voice commanded softly.

Lyla willed her eyes to open, willed her hands to move.

Something.

Anything. 

Slowly her surroundings came into focus and she noted (with a startled realization) that she was in her smial. 

More importantly, she noted three people sitting together near the fire in the sitting room. 

Bilbo and her parents turned towards her, giving her wide smiles, their eyes twinkling. 

‘Why have you come home?’ Her father’s voice was soft, comforting.

Lyla felt the undeniable urge to reach out and grasp him to her, hold him close. 

But some invisible force held her back, forcing her arms to stay at her side. 

Longing filled her as she gazed back at her family.

And she noticed something. 

Her mother was frowning. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes narrowed, as she gazed at her daughter. She didn’t seem pleased.

‘You should not be here, darling,’ she whispered quietly, ‘Not yet.’

‘But it would be so much easier,’ the familiar dark voice tickled her ear, ‘So much easier to go to them, wouldn’t it? No more fighting, no more pain.’

‘No more loneliness.’

Her mother’s frown deepened and she shook her head lightly, as she rose from her perch next to Bungo Baggins, taking a small step forward.

‘You should not be here darling.’ She murmured softly again. ‘Not yet.’

Lyla noted the way Bilbo and her father were smilling kindly as well. 

‘You must go back.’

‘But it is easier to stay. Easier to just give in.’ A dark figure seemed to hover behind her family, casting a dark shadow over her fond memories of them, pulling their forms further from her, casting them into the dark. 

‘You must fight,’ Bilbo’s voice echoed lowly in her ear as his face began to fade, ‘Do not give up. You’re the stubborn, adventurous one, remember? You can’t just give up now! ’

I WOULD be so much easier, though, to just let go, to give in. And she missed her family. She’d dreamt about them for so long. Seeing them again…

‘Fight,’ Her father whispered is expression imploring. ‘Do not dream of the past. Do not dream of what cannot be. You are meant to be elsewhere. You are meant to do much.’

‘A great task has been appointed to you,’ a familiar female voice hummed softly, ‘And if you do not find a way, then no one will. We will all pass into shadow. You must come back.’

‘Fight for him. Fight for Thorin Oakenshield. Fight for those you love.’

The command came again and the thought of Thorin sent her mind whirling.

Thorin.

The dark voice hissed at her, and she felt as though a weight was pressing on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Her family’s faces seemed to fade.

Exhaustion swept through her and she felt herself drifting back into the haze, back into the oblivion of release. 

No more pain, or struggle. 

But the thought of seeing Thorin…

And Dwalin, Balin, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur…

Fili and Kili

Dori, Nori, Ori…

Even Oin and Gloin…

Aule…

Lyla’s head throbbed painfully and she felt as though her skull was being torn in two. She tried to struggle, to get away from this sensation, make it stop somehow. 

‘Give in,’ that all too familiar voice hissed as a hooded shadow glided forward, towards her, kneeling at her side, ‘Just give in and it will all end.’

‘Fight.’ 

The shadow descended upon her, crushing her lungs.

*****  
Thorin’s heart was racing as he watched Lyla’s breathing stutter and then still.

He felt his own heart falter.

No.

His grip on her hand tightened as the elf, Elladan leaned closer, his voice rising in pitch as he grasped the hobbit’s head gently, thumbs sweeping over her cheeks. 

And, then, the elf did something rather unexpected. Pushing the covers down, he tilted Lyla’s whole frame to the side so that she lay facing the dwarf king, her bandaged arm drooping over her side and golden tendrils sweeping over her exposed cheek. 

Back and forth he rocked her shoulder, keeping a firm hand upon her back, coaxing air in and out of her lung. 

“Breathe.” He murmured lowly, “Fight.” 

“Givashel,” Thorin murmured in pleading, choking, “Please do not. Don’t go where I cannot follow.”

‘Please, Mahal,’ he begged silently, ‘Please.’

He did not care that the image he portrayed was one not befitting a king (for king did not show emotion as his grandfather had always insisted). He did not care if the elves thought him weak. 

All he cared about was her. 

“Please little flower,” he murmured, “Please.” 

Elladan continued to murmur in Lyla’s ear, his voice going low once more as he rocked he forced air into her lungs.

“Avo bedo ve tellin sí nan methen,” the elf’s soft words filled the room, coming to rest in Thorin’s ear. “Avo dedo ve tellin si nan methen.”

Lyla’s breathing stuttered and then increased.

Slowly it steadied once more 

The elf didn’t raise his head as he spoke again, his attention drawn to forcing air into Lyla’s lungs.

“Athelas.”

One word. 

Elrohir has been crushing more of the plant between his palms even before the command had been given. Mixing the athelas and water together, he brought another rag to Elladan who rested Lyla on her back once more and brought the cool rag to the hobbit’s lips, tilting her head back ever so slightly, coaxing the water down her throat. 

Lyla let out a choking noise, as her body jerked and twisted, her fingers fluttering rapidly.

And, then, her movements stilled again as she settled amongst the sheets once more. 

“Fight,” Thorin murmured again, brining Lyla’s hand to his lips. 

*****

‘Fight’

The word continued to echo about in Lyla’s head as she struggled to gain control of her limbs, to push the dark form off of her. 

‘You must fight.’ 

More words were spoken, soft tones in a foreign tongue, as she arched her back and tried to twist away. 

Her arm ached terribly, her head pounded and the sinister laughter continued to haunt her as the specter pressed upon her chest, making it difficult to fill her lungs. 

She tried to kick her legs, tried to gain traction, to move away from this foul, hooded shadow. 

Her fingers twitched, and she felt a tingle in her ankles as her feet started to regain sensation. 

‘Fight Givashel,’ Thorin’s voice was soft, his command firm in her mind as she pushed against the hooded figure, trying to get away. 

Aule, she wanted to see him again. 

‘He does not want you,’ the voice hissed above her, ‘He cast you aside.’

“I don’t care.” Her fingers twitched again and she was able to raise her wrist. “I don’t care.”

‘I need him.’ She thought, desperately twisting away, ‘I need him to know that I…even if he doesn’t. He needs to know. And the others too. They need to know that I love them.’

‘He abandoned you. They do not need you. You will be forgotten.’

Anger welled in Lyla’s chest and adrenaline pulsed through her ears as she glared at the shadowed figure atop her. 

‘Give up. You have no one waiting for you.’ The figure tried to press harder, making it more and more difficult to breathe. ‘You will never be missed.’

No.

Anger warred with despair as Lyla fought to maneuver from beneath the shadow’s hold.

No, she would not give in. She would not give up. 

*****  
A soft whimper. 

A groan of pain, jerked Thorin’s tired mind back into wakefulness. 

He had been dozing, days of watching and waiting getting the better of his war-wearied body.

But, the soft pressure upon his hand, the movement of fabric had him lifting his head and coming closer to Lyla’s frame, ignoring the way his own wounds groaned in protest to the movement.

Her fingers twitched, her chest rose and fell, lips parting as she whimpered again, her brows furrowing in pain. 

“Lyla,” He murmured softly, as the elf brothers came closer to the bedside, “Are you with us?”

A soft groan.

A deep inhale of breath.

Fluttering lashes. 

Thorin’s heart started hammering in his chest, a strange ache growing, a warmth beginning to fill his veins, spreading to his fingers and down to his feet. 

“Fight,” he whispered softly, “Please fight.”

Achingly slowly, Lyla seemed to come back to life, her breathing deepening, soft noises escaping her lips.

Her nose twitched and then…

Ever so slowly, the hobbit, his dear little hobbit, blinked, her eyes fluttering as they slowly opened. 

Brilliant, beautiful hazel eyes, marred by pain and exhaustion, stared back at him.

“Thorin,” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper as her lip curved into a tired smile, “I’ve missed you.”

“Lyla,” The dwarf breathed, disbelievingly, cupping the hobbit’s face with his palm bringing his forehead down to touch hers lightly, his emotions getting the better of him, making it impossible to speak. 

He’d been so blind for so long, so hard, so callous and so unforgivably cruel to her, to Lyla. He deserved none of her forgiveness, none of her trust. None of her affections.  
And yet, her expression said it all. Her simple remark resonated with the soft caress of forgiveness. 

Guilt and sorrow twisted in Thorin’s gut and he felt the start of tears in his eyes. 

It took nearly losing her for him to realize how much of a fool he’d been. It took her unsolicited and undeserved bravery for him to acknowledge the powerful hold she held over him. 

He needed to make amends. Needed to plead for forgiveness. 

She deserved so much better than what she’d received. 

“My dear Givashel,” He finally managed to murmured, swallowing back a sob,“I-I’m—“ 

Soft lips touched his own, silencing his remarks completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? We're nearly finished. Just an epilogue to go...I hope you've enjoyed this story and I'd love to hear your comments. 
> 
> And as always, please take a peek at these amazing authors. I love them: 
> 
> chappysmom: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> kookookarli: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> and 
> 
> luckyhai5: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


	69. So Life Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose ends are tied up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's finally happened. The last chapter. I don't know about you lot, but I'm sort of in shock about the whole thing. I hope, however, that you enjoy this last chapter, and that this journey has been enjoyable. I know that I've had fun writing it.

Epilogue: 

“ Speak!” Gandalf’s voice was low, dangerous as he leaned forward, peering into the darkened cell.

He earned echoing, sinister laughter as a response.

Thranduil stared, unamusedly at Dain Ironfoot, confusion and suspicion warring within him.

What did this dwarf know?

“You cannot hide behind your simpering smirks,” He remarked towards the cell, where Dain still sat, hair disheveled and wide grin upon his face, “You know something.”

“I know nothing,” Dain remarked flippantly, “I only know that the Halfling will bring about the downfall of this people. An ill guest, a deceptive witch.”

“Your cousin was under the effects of the dragon sickness,” Gandalf continued, “You would hold the hobbit responsible for her actions to protect him? You hold onto a petty injustice that saved his life!”

Dain narrowed his eyes and came closer to the bars, “Why should I listen to you, Gandalf, storm crow? You are nothing but a bad omen. Your coming is as the footsteps of doom. You , and that creature, will destroy my cousin and my people.”

Gandalf leaned forward, so that his nose was nearly touching the metal bars of the cell, his eyes narrowed and his frown deepened.

“You are not yourself,” He remarked, drawing away quickly, “A darkness has clouded your mind.”

Dain only laughed again. But Thranduil saw something in the dwarf’s gaze, before it disappeared beneath the nonchalant and callous mask.

Fear.

Thranduil knew that the wizard’s words were true. The first time he’d questioned the dwarf, Dain Ironfoot’s eyes betrayed that something darker held sway over him. 

He wondered how much control the dwarf had over his actions.

And he couldn’t help but compare Master Ironfoot’s actions to what Thorin’s had been. 

Callous.

Angered.

Selfish.

“I must see the head of order,” Gandalf muttered darkly as they moved slowly up the stairwell, back towards the treasure room, the angered growls of Dain echoing behind them. “He is both wise and powerful. He’ll know what power is controlling this dwarf.” Gandalf gave Thranduil a small, resigned smile, “He’ll know what to do.”

“And think ye that he will also have answers concerning the hobbit?” Thranduil’s curiosity was piqued. He wondered how vast the knowledge of the wizards truly was.  
Gandalf only shook his head, “That I do not know. But, I have every plans to inform him of what has transpired and search for any clues during my time in Minis Tirith. There is much to answer and I fear not a lot of time in which to answer it.”

The elven king watched the wizard hastily ascend the landing, muttering to himself all the while.

“Riddles in the dark,” Gandalf’s voice was soft, “Precious. hmm...”

*****  
“I’m fine,” Lyla insisted as Dwalin pulled the blanket up higher before pressing a small cup to her lips. 

She suspected a draught was mixed in with the athelas and water.

“Aye, ye’ve said that enough times on this journey for me te know yer lyin’.” 

Dwalin frowned at her, his eyes narrowing as he pressed the cup more forcefully towards her.

Begrudgingly, Lyla took a few sips, her guilt winning over her stubbornness. She did still feel the aftermath of from battle, even if it had been a week prior. 

The water was cool and soothing, the athelas reminding her of her favorite peppermint tea back at home.

“Stubborn lass,” Dwalin grumbled shooting her a contemptuous (if half-hearted) glare. As he set the still half full glass on the table at her bedside. 

Apparently she had nearly died. 

And that was something the warrior dwarf was not too keen on having happen again. Between him and Thorin, Lyla was not sure who was being the bigger mother hen.

‘Taking notes from Dori obviously’ she thought wryly.

Numerous glasses of athelas and water had been tipped to her lips since she’d awoken to a company of curious (and relieved faces).

An extra tunic and mittens were placed upon her,to keep any chill away.

They even threatened her with sock as well, though Lyla adamantly refused those. 

Hobbits wearing socks? The notion was odd.

Insead, they fussed over her bandages and offered her extra blankets or just sat and chattered away, keeping her constant company. 

It was enough drive her batty.

Though it didn’t. 

If she were honest with herself, Lyla would concede that she felt an immense sense of relief and comfort being surrounded by so many who cared. 

Of course, the rest of the company wasn’t much better, though. Bofur and Bifur had taken up residence in her room along with the two princes, both of whom were keen on staying near Lyla’s side at all times—even though Kili still sported some rather impressive wounds on his shoulder and stomach that needed tending to. Their weapons and bedrolls filled the floor so that it resembled the campsites she’d grown so accustomed to on their travels.

It was a small comfort after all the disquiet moments in the past few weeks. 

Ori sat, for the first few days, in the nearest chair, sketching, insisting that now was as good a time as any to finally finish her portrait (one he’d started ages ago, ‘After the first battle with Azog’). 

Lyla inwardly cringed at the thought of Ori’s keen eye capturing every bruise and scrape.

Dori and Bombur had raided the kitchen (untouched by the dragon’s scourge). They pulled forth pots, pans and other cooking utensils and with the help of some of the elves’  
provisions (begrudgingly accepted, mind you), they brought her a nice warm cup of tea and some biscuits to tide over her appetite. 

Thorin hardly ever left her side, even when she insisted that he go and get rest, especially considering he was injured, even more than Kili. A large gash in his cheek, stomach, hands and she suspected his shoulder, made him wince whenever he moved about.

“You need to rest.”

She only earned a scowl from the king and dull glare as he grumbled his refusal. 

It took Gandalf nearly knocking him senseless before the king finally agreed. 

Of course he only stayed away for a few hours, returning to his post with a look that brooked no argument from the hobbit. 

Though she still argued nonetheless. 

“Now ye rest lass,” Dwalin’s gruff voice rumbled near her ear, pulling her back to the present, as he pressed his forehead against hers in a gentle show of affection, “I’ve some  
things to attend to, but Thorin and the boys will be here in a bit for ye. And I’ll be back in no time.”

He fixed her with another, brotherly glare as his lip quirked into a small smile as he ruffled her hair lightly.

“Stubborn lass,” he muttered again softly. 

Lyla gave a soft smile as drowsiness began to tug at her.

So, she’d been right about the draught. 

However, as she watched Dwalin retreat through the door—to help attend to the various affairs of the mountain as it slowly began to bustle with life—she was left with her thoughts and the blurred images of recent events, warring and keeping her mind alert enough to remain awake. 

The details were still muzzy for her, and she found it hard to concentrate on any specific recent event without giving herself a headache.  
And then they had questioned her, wanting to understand what had happened.

Two elves she had never seen, tended to her arm with careful attention as Gandalf harangued her with questions.

“How did you come by this information?” he interrogated kindly, sitting on the edge of her bed, curious about her knowledge of Bolg’s affiliation with the necromancer.

“How did you know that he was being controlled, that they all were?”

They wanted to know how she came in contact with the black breath, wanted to know what creature could have instilled such a poison upon her. 

The elves in particular, wanted to know how she had escaped such a dark power and any other knowledge she had on the necromancer’s plans, for sure she had heard something.  
But Lyla wasn’t very good at giving any answers. Her memories were disjointed and confused. 

All she seemed to recall was a dark, cloaked figure.

She could feel the starts of another headache beginning to prickle behind her eyes and shook her head lightly to dispel the thoughts. 

She was certain they would come to her eventually. And Gandalf would get his answers then. 

Though, she was certain, the wizard would be back to question her more far sooner than that!

She grasped the chain around her neck, her fingers running over Dis’ ring, the flower and the new little charm that resided there.

She ignored the other chain about her neck, the one that contained the ring she wanted to forget for the moment and the way it made her stomach coil in dread. 

She focused, instead, on the bead, the small silver bead ordained with tiny, delicate, beautifully rendered, flowers and vines. She gazed down at the object—made of mithril Kili had pointed out—and wondered why she had it. 

Thorin had given it to her. 

And while SHE had kissed the dwarf upon seeing him when she’d awoken, something still stung at her heart. 

An uncomfortable feeling. 

Thorin had rejected her so thoroughly, so callously. 

So painfully. 

Lyla absently rubbed at the back of her neck, dropping her hold on the necklace and bead. 

Granted, she knew he had not been in his right mind, but his actions still seemed to haunt her senses and she felt a shyness creep over her in his presence. 

She didn’t know how he perceived her. Whether he still cared to the same degree. Yes he had been attentive and almost doting in nature, but she wondered if guilt was the only driving force behind that. 

He’d certainly begun to act more himself. Gone were the fevered eyes and the angry scowl. He had returned to his former slightly aloof temperament. 

But she could help but wonder…

Lyla yawned once and shook her head again.

“Bother,” she murmured softly, kicking the blanket from her legs slowly.

Her muscles were aching and sore.

But they also longed to be used. 

Lyla hated being bed ridden. It gave her far too much time to think, far too much time to consider things. 

She needed to move about, explore. 

Her Tookish nature demanded it. 

And if it would help her put these unpleasant thoughts to rest (even for a little while), well then, what was the harm?

Stifling another yawn, Lyla slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position, wincing as her bandaged arm was jostled about and her tired muscles were forced to work. With careful movements, she slowly shifted and shimmied towards the edge of the bed, slowly throwing her legs over the side, watching as they dangled over the edge. 

With her left arm in a sling, she could not use both hands to slowly slide from the bed. 

So, scooting herself forward, Lyla brought her right hand down and carefully pushed her weight into propelling her body forward and towards a standing position. 

The world wobbled-the pitcher and cup of water on the table blurring together—and her legs shook as she tried to steady her stance after being abed for so long. 

“Should you really be doing that?”

The soft voice sent Lyla reeling back in surprise, her legs giving out as she stumbled backwards. 

Her bandaged arm caught on the edge of the bed as she slipped to the floor, sending shooting pain through her shoulder.

Stars danced before her eyes and she let out a surprised wheeze.

“Mistress Baggins!” A face swam before her and she had to blink a few times before Bard’s surprised and worried face appeared before her.

“Are you alright?” He hummed grasping her shoulders and helping her to her feet, tightening his grip on her as her legs, wobbled again. “Are you hurt?”

“Fine,” Lyla mumbled, heat rising to her cheeks, as the tall bowman helped her back into bed (with her minimal protests), “I’m fine. Wounded pride is all.”

She winced as she moved her tender arm.

There was a soft snort and Lyla turned, surprised to the doorway, noting Thranduil standing there, his arms crossed as he watched her intently.

“It would appear that hobbits are as stubborn as their dwarven counterparts,” He remarked quietly coming closer to the hobbit, eyes narrowed, “You are only now starting to recover from your near brush with death and insist on moving about already.” 

He leaned over the bed and carefully grasped Lyla’s bandaged arm, undoing the bindings and slowly unwrapping the fabric exposing her flesh. 

Lyla repressed the urge to cringe as she saw her bare arm for the first time. Faint purple markings marred her tender skin, travelling up her arm and wrapping around her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she noted just how strange her skin looked. 

“It is healing nicely,” Thranduil remarked softly. 

Lyla’s attention turned towards the elf who attended to her arm thoughtfully, crushing athelas leaves and flowers between his palms and placing them directly upon her skin.

The elf king shot her a contemplative look. 

“I have only seen the effects of the black breath, as severe as this, only one other time, master hobbit,” He murmured softly, turning his attention back towards Lyla’s arm, beginning to carefully wrap the bandages around her once more, “and their fate was not as favorable as your own.”

The elf king stilled for a few moments, his eye going unfocused as his lips pulled into a thin line, his brows furrowed. 

And then he shook his head and his normal, stoic gaze returned, though Lyla could see a dimness overtaking the brilliance of his gaze. 

Sadness.

“You have travelled far and done much, young one,” Thranduil stated softly, catching the hobbit’s gaze, “yet I wonder if your travels end here in this mountain. I sense…” 

He trailed off, his tone dropping low as his eyes narrowed.

“There is much still to answer, Shireling, and I wonder what role you will play in all of this.” 

“I don’t…understand,” Lyla remarked slowly, softly, as she sent a confused look towards the Elven King.

Thranduil only sighed, his lips pulling into a frown. 

“It is not something I can illuminate to you, Master Baggins,” he responded, “There is something at work, something bigger than Erebor and Mirkwood and the battle. Something moves. Yet I cannot see it.” He faltered and then sighed, “So many questions.”

Lyla marveled at how familiar those words sounded to her ears. 

She’d heard them somewhere before…

And she watched, almost transfixed as his slender fingers reached towards her throat.

But in a flash, the elf king drew his hand away and rose his eyes hooded. 

He shot Lyla another curious glance.

“I must go. Speak with Gandalf. And you,” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed at the hobbit, “Must rest. Much has been done to protect you, do not hinder your healing because of stubborn curiosity.”

Lyla narrowed her eyes in return and frown at the tall, proud elf before her, “I am not stubborn,” She retorted. And then she smiled softly. ”Not much anyway.”

Thranduil merely quirked an eyebrow upwards before turning on his heel and retreating through the doorway.

Bard, however remained near Lyla’s bed, watching the hobbit carefully, his face split into a soft grin.

“Not stubborn, indeed,” He remarked, sarcasm lacing his words, as he edged closer and, finally, sat on the bed carefully. 

“Though, perhaps, that is what leaves us here today, Lyla Baggins. You have done much good here and I am grateful.”

“I unleashed a dragon,” Lyla snorted derisively, her chest still paining her every time the thought rose to her mind, “I set that beast upon Laketown. Cost many people their…” She swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise, ushering the thoughts away. “Now where will you go?”

Bard chuckled softly, “Yes Esgaroth is gone. For now. And lives have been lost. But, our children are safe and far more were spared had you done nothing. The Master was overthrown, his plot realized and, Mistress Baggins, we have been offered refuge within the fortress of Mirkwood as well as here within the mountain. Your Master Oakenshield has made a rather gallant offer.”

Had he?

“Oh.” Was all she could think to reply. 

Things had been so jumbled that she hardly knew how to react to anything anymore.

Bard must have sensed her confusion for he chuckled again. “It would seem that this sickness that held him captive has finally loosened his hold.”

And then the bowman reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bundle, leaning over to Lyla. 

“And it would certainly seem that I am no longer in need of this. So I return it to you, to give to the king.”

Carefully, he grabbed Lyla’s good hand and placed the small wrapped bundle in her palm.

Lyla didn’t need to unwrap the bundle to know what it was. Her throat felt thick and she stared, shocked back at Bard, whose eyes were soft, almost regretful. 

“I know what this cost you,” He remarked slowly, “I see the doubt in your eyes. But maybe this,” he nodded his head lightly towards the bundle, “can be a start to make things whole again.”

Bard stood up slowly, and gave her good shoulder a light squeeze, “You have done much good,” he remarked again, “You have saved many lives. The dragon is gone and life will go on.” 

Without another word, the bowman left Lyla to her swirling thoughts. 

Clutching the arkenstone to her chest, Lyla bit back a groan and closed her eyes. 

*****  
 _She was outside, soft rain was pelting her face (though she couldn’t feel the droplets touch her skin). A blurred, dark shape hovered in front of her. She couldn’t quite make out who the figure was._

_But she could not mistake the hiss commands and the soft sinister laughter that followed._

_And she certainly could suppress the shudder that coursed down her spine as the blurry figure moved closer._

Lyla’s eyes fluttered and she blinked a few times at the ceiling of stone above her head, willing the ache in her head to ease. 

She wanted to forget the blurred images and the way they made her skin crawl.

At the same time she wanted to remember, wanted to understand. 

A particularly painful jab pierced her skull and she scrunched her eyes closed for a moment. 

“You cannot force the memories to return, Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf soft, smiling voice slowly filtered her thoughts. 

She opened her eyes warily and turned to find the tall, grey wizard sitting near her bedside, staff in his lap and hat on the table as he watched her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. 

“You cannot will the thoughts return whenever you wish,” He continued, his eyes were twinkling and thoughtful, “No matter how we might wish it.” He leaned closer, “Do not force yourself to remember just yet. Be patient and it will come to you. Of that I am certain.”

And then the wizard leaned back once more and straightened. 

“It would appear that you are finally on the mend,” He remarked thoughtfully, assessing her movements as she slowly tried to sit up, “Your arm will take some time to heal completely. But other than a cold and some bruising and a few cuts, you will survive relatively unscathed.”

“Well that’s certainly a comfort,” Lyla mumbled wincing as she put weight on her bad arm, “I’m not too fond of lasting damage or laying about all day.”

Lyla wrinkled her nose again at the thought of being stuck in this bed.

Gandalf chuckled, “I do not doubt that you will manage to find your way out of this room sooner than most might like.”

“Far sooner than we might like.”

Lyla stiffened and turned her gaze towards the doorway where Thorin stood, arms folded together, his eyes trained on the hobbit. 

“It would seem that you’ve already tried to escape your bed from what I hear.” He stepped forward, his ebony hair glinting in the torchlight and a new, blue tunic making his eyes shine brilliantly. 

Lyla swallowed as a warm heat rose on her neck. 

“Yes, well,” She muttered lowly, “I can’t be expected to stay here forever now can I?”

Thorin chuckled and stepped to the other side of the bed, eyes still trained on Lyla.

“I would never have expected as much,” He conceded softly, sitting slowly (with only a small wince) into the empty chair, “Though Dwalin may have a thing or two to say on the matter.”

Gandalf’s soft chuckle had Lyla frowning. 

She sent a glare at the wizard, whose smile was still in place, though his eyes conveyed a deeper train of thought. 

He continued to watch Lyla thoughtfully even as he addressed Thorin, “I am to understand the reconstruction will begin soon,” the wizard remarked, “Before the worst of the winter storms arrives.”

“Yes,” Thorin remarked quietly, “The men of Dale and Laketown need time to move their women and children and supplies here. Thranduil has agreed to provide as much provisions as possible and I’m told that the people of Laketown are not so forlorn. A storehouse has been discovered, undisturbed by fire. There will be grain enough to make it through.” 

“Good,” Gandalf remarked, “It will certainly make my parting easier then.”

Lyla’s brow furrowed.

He was leaving?

“Where are you going?” She questioned, “If winter is coming, why are you leaving now?”

Gandalf sigh and his smile dimmed, “There are things that I must see to,” he remarked vaguely, grip tightening on his staff.

“What thing? You aren’t making much sense Gandalf.”

Slowly, the wizard rose to his feet and peered down at the hobbit, his expression thoughtful, “There are questions. Questions that need answers. Your ring, the necromancer, Dain Ironfoot. Too many coincidences and not enough explanation. I must seek counsel.”

Lyla’s hand went to her throat instinctively and she couldn’t suppress the growing fear that blossomed in her heart. 

By Aule, what was going on?

Gandalf bent closer to Lyla’s face and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. 

Lyla stared back with wide eyes, noting how old Gandalf appeared to be in that moment. 

Something weighed on him, heavily.

“Keep it secret,” he murmured, his eyes drifting to the ring still clasped in Lyla’s hand. 

And then he straightened and turned towards Thorin.

“Keep her safe,” He admonished the dwarf king, making Lyla’s cheeks ignite.

“I will return when I know more.” 

Lyla’s thoughts were jumbled as she watched yet another person exit her room, their vague words swirling in her head.

Thranduil.

And now Gandalf.

“Lyla.”

She wondered what had transpired since she’d been asleep. What could have incited so much suspicion and questions. 

“Lyla.”

And why would he be so hasty to leave? What concerned Gandalf so much that he’d risk leaving right before winter set in? And across the mountain?

“Givashel.”

What did Thranduil know? And why wasn’t anyone telling her—

Lyla’s thoughts abruptly ceased as a warm, calloused hand grasped her chin and turned her gaze away from the door.

“Dear Givashel,” Thorin murmured softly as he ran his thumb over her cheek, “You must cease your thoughts. They will drive you towards madness.”

“I-“ 

Thorin’s grip loosened on her chin as he placed a finger to the hobbit’s lips.

“No. Do not dwell on this now. Gandalf will return and then you can have your answers and put your worries to rest. For now you must focus on the present.”

“But I don’t understand why—“

“Hush,” Thorin remarked pressing his finger more forcefully to Lyla’s lips, “Be still. All of your answers will come in time. There is much confusion and much to investigate yet. My cousin, your trinket,” Thorin’s eyes drifted to Lyla’s neck briefly before flicking back towards her face, “And whatever was controlling the orc army. These are questions that I cannot answer and Gandalf has promised you answers when he returns. Until then, you must set these things aside.” 

Thorin’s smile dimmed as he pulled his hand away.

“If it helps,” he remarked quietly, “You are safe here, so long as you wish to remain.”

Lyla’s heart stuttered as Thorin’s brows knit together and a look of worry crossed his features.

“Where else would I go?” She heard herself say as a small smile slipped on her face, “Dwalin and Bofur and the others would just drag me back. I do still owe them scones.”

Thorin’s smile widened a little, the edges around his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Indeed they would. They are nothing if not determined. And I…” He trailed off swallowing, as his eyes softened, “I have come to find that I much prefer the company of our resident burglar.”

The word burglar had Lyla’s memory sparking.

“Oh!” She remarked gazing reaching beneath her pillow, “I have something for you. I need…that is…”

Unbidden flashes of Thorin’s enraged face filled her mind’s eye. 

Hanging over the edge of the wall.

“I need to return something to you,” She remarked, her voice catching as she averted her gaze.

“Lyla—“ Thorin’s voice was soft, but panicked and abruptly cut short as the hobbit pulled forth the small bundled object.

Carefully, she unwrapped the bindings and cast a sidelong glance towards Thorin as the arkenstone glittered brightly in Lyla’s palm.

Thorin’s eyes had gone wide, surprised, and reverent as he gazed back at the swirling, glittering mass of color and light.

“Bard gave it back,” She remarked, guessing his thoughts, “He said he no longer had a reason to keep it.”

She turned more fully to face Thorin, “He said you’d offered them shelter and reparation.” 

Thorin’s gaze was riveted to the stone and he stared unblinking, his mouth slightly agape. 

“I told him…”

“Thorin,” Lyla sighed, “I-I’m sorry for what happened, for how I went about it. How-“

“I told him to keep it.”

Words abandoned her as Thorin’s gaze shifted, quite suddenly, back to Lyla’s face. His expression was unreadable as he reached forward and grabbed Lyla’s hand, wrapping his own around her’s and the arkenstone.

“I told both he and Thranduil to keep it,” He murmured again, “I told them I did not want it. Why…?”

He trailed off his gaze narrowing as he stared at Lyla. 

“I don’t know,” she replied softly, “But it is yours nonetheless.”

Turning their hands, so that Thorin’s was on the bottom, and released her hold on the arkenstone and drew her hand away slowly. 

Thorin’s gaze returned to the glittering gem in his hand and carefully, he drew his palm closer to his person, his fingers closing around the arkenstone, in a tight grip.  
And then, he set the stone aside, resting it carefully on the bedside table.

Thorin’s gaze drifted back to Lyla’s startled one and his brows knit together. 

A small, hesitant smile ghosted his face.

“I have something for you,” he murmured drawing something small from his pocket.

Lyla watched, surprised and intrigued as Thorin brought his hand forward again and opened his palm.

Lyla’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open in surprise at the small golden flower sitting in Thorin’s palm.

“Where did you…? Where did you find that? I’d have thought that this late in the season they’d have all gone.” 

Thorin smiled softly,“You have to look hard.” 

A light fluttering sensation filled Lyla’s stomach.

Slowly, the dwarf reached up and placed the small flower in Lyla’s hand and closed her fingers around the plant gently. 

“I know that there exists between us a chasm of bitterness. I know that I’ve hurt you, that I’ve betrayed your trust.” Slowly Thorin came to sit on the edge of the bed, “I know that you were only trying to protect this company. I know that I…hurt you.” 

Thorin winced at that admission, and refused to meet Lyla’s eyes.

“And I certainly do not deserve your forgiveness, dear Givashel. But I also know that you prefer flowers and sunshine to mountains of stone and gold.” He hazarded a glance at Lyla, “And I know that you value good food and cheer above riches and war. And I know, Lyla Baggins, that you have nothing to apologize for. I must make amends and I promise  
you that I will spend every day doing so. I am sorry my dear one. I am sorry I brought pain upon you. I am sorry for everything.”

Cupping his hand on her chin, Thorin brought his forehead to hers and nuzzled his nose against her cheek.

“Givashel,” He murmured softly, his warm breath ghosting over her lips and cheek, “Givashel is an endearment that we give to one whose value rises above all others.” 

He leaned forward and briefly captured her lips with his own. 

Lyla’s heart hammered in her chest, her lips and cheek were tingling, her head spinning as Thorin’s soft gaze bore into her.

“And I cannot part with you, my Givashel. I am a selfish dwarf, and I cannot bear the thought of you anywhere but near my side.”

Thorin brought his lips back towards Lyla’s and closed the space between them. 

And for the moment, Lyla would let the thoughts of shadows, nightmares, and sinister whispers abandon her mind. 

She’d focus on this moment, instead and revel in the feel of Thorin’s soft hair between her fingers, and his warm lips caressing her own. 

*****

Thorin marveled in the steady rise and fall of the hobbit's form as Lyla breathed deeply in her sleep. 

He'd forced her to drink another draught. 

He certainly wasn't about to take any chances, now that she was on the mend. 

He smiled fondly at his hobbit, curled on her side, hands fisted into her pillow (in much the same way that she had back in Laketown) and he reveled in the small moment of calm silence. 

His thoughts, however, were not calm.

Instead they continued to drift towards the arkenstone as ideas and concerns filled his mind. 

He'd lied to her. He knew why they had given back the arkenstone. 

And the thought terrified him.

He didn't know if he could protect it. 

Or Lyla for that matter. 

'Keep it secret. Keep her safe.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, lovelies, what did you think? The final chapter. It's done. Finished...
> 
> For now anyway. 
> 
> But here are some great authors. Go take a peek at their works and enjoy some phenomenal works: 
> 
> chappysmom: http://archiveofourown.org/users/chappysmom/pseuds/chappysmom
> 
> kookookarli: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookookarli/pseuds/Kookookarli
> 
> and luckyhai5: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyhai5/pseuds/Luckyhai5


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